Memoirs
by hippiechick2112
Summary: Captain Jeanie Morrison recalls all of the events of her life during the war at the 4077th and her peaceful civilian years, mostly concerning camp antics and her chaotic relationship with Hawkeye Pierce. Outtakes and additions for the series "This Forsaken War".
1. More than a Friend

**Memoirs**

**Note and Disclaimer: I don't own the character of _M*A*S*H_, but the character of Captain Jeanie Morrison (the main character and narrator) belongs to me. These are outtakes and some made up scenes from the series "This Forsaken War", chapters and others things that I discarded or some other scenes I thought of after the story series' end in 2010. I saved them because I liked them or made up a few I thought would fit in somewhere random. I figured it would be fun to put them all together and kind of complete the series almost, going from war to postwar. Some of the scenes, I filled in, to explain some chapters and get a few laughs. Enjoy!**

* * *

The first evening together in the Swamp and kiss outside of my tent was never enough for me, as I've always thought. Walking around on Cloud Nine was not exactly the way to put it (although, I say, I kinda was mostly out of it), but I could never describe the feelings I've had when being around Hawkeye Pierce, especially after that first night together. Hell, it had been two nights since that first kiss in front of the nurses' tent, but I was hungering for more and more, wanting to be with him and to talk him in the same way we did before. And more was what I was about to get…in the form of another date.

When I had Post-Op duty one warm autumn morning (well, it _was_ two mornings after that _kiss_), Hawkeye showed up as I was writing reports at the desk, something from the night before. It was not unusual surely for a doctor to come in and make rounds randomly, even if he was not on duty, but there was something in his blue eyes that said that he needed something and that I was his target. I avoided his glance when he eyed me and then turned to look back at him when I could not stand the eyes at the back of my head any longer. I felt that gaze was tearing me apart inside, one that inviting me into another world that mirrored mine in many ways and would show me more of his.

Even though I was busily doing something I hated doing (writing on paper, I mean), I was always interested in what Hawkeye wanted to say and do. Today was one of those days, just as it had been, when I was wishing he would call me out in front of everyone. I mean, it wasn't like Hawkeye had been paying much attention to me. Indeed, that had been growing since he invited me to the Swamp. He alone would seek me out in those two days, ask my opinion and even poke at me to join him in surgery. It wasn't something that didn't get people to talk (and boy, did I _ever_ hear it from the nurses!), but it was something that made me special, like I was _somebody_ and not the nobody people made me out to be here.

Besides, it made me warm inside to feel love once more, even if it was the giddiness of a teenager in school. Did I mention that it was two days since that kiss?!

When Hawkeye saw that I was looking at him too (finally realizing how wonderful it was to have someone who liked him for who he was and not for what he had under his pants), he went over to me, leaning in just so and barely kissing me quickly on the head. I felt the electric shock of it travel down through my body, which almost jolted me awake from the long shift I've had already. I tried my best to show that I was more interested in his words and not the second kiss we sort of shared, but that was hard to hide from Hawkeye. He didn't seem to mind though.

"So, how is my favorite nurse doing?" Hawkeye asked me, a description that made me warm inside, mixing in with the shock of the kiss.

I couldn't help but giggle like a schoolgirl too, even if Henry was nearby on duty and most likely straining his ears to hear every word said. "Oh, just getting by, I suppose," I replied. "What do you have in mind now, Hawkeye? You came in here for a reason."

"Well, I was thinking of maybe a dinner for two in the minefields, with a cozy little blanket and some gin newly made from this morning." Hawkeye grinned, like he was picturing it already. "I heard that it was a good morning today and that tonight is bound to make it a better night. Less artillery in the weather forecast, but there's going to be more of each other. Mother promised me."

I laughed out loud with pleasure, causing Henry to move his head from his patient to me in sort of a slow motion annoyed sort of way, like in a movie. Granted, he was very red-faced from exasperation (most likely from Hawkeye butting in when I was on duty and he was not), but he could do nothing nonetheless. Hawkeye was innocently talking to me, as he had for the past _two_ days (sweetly, I should say), and ignoring every other nurse. However, it didn't mean that Hawkeye was guilty of something entirely, something that would involve me later on…and soon to be something else in the present moment. The problem for now was about to pull himself in, in the form of a major pain, to be precise.

Just when I was about to answer to my favorite person of the day (and perhaps the month or longer, if things went the way I wanted them to), Frank Burns appeared. Holding his pants from behind and only walking around in that and his undershirt and Army cap, he looked like he was more than pissed off. Even his Regular Army spit-and-shine boots were missing from feet, revealing more than just hairy toes, dirty feet and long toenails that showed chipped black nail polish (most likely painted because of Margaret Houlihan). I swear, even his nose hair was missing that tight hourly cleaning it was used to, cringing in a curl as he noticed Hawkeye by me. In a huffy sigh, Frank came over to us, shoving his way over bedpans and nurses to reach the desk, away from everyone else's earshot.

Being tact wasn't in Frank's book though. He was more interested in calling Hawkeye out on the silliest thing that recently happened. Without dignity or respect, he began, not noticing that everyone was watching the scene behind him.

"Pierce!" Frank began, not knowing what else to say other than calling Hawkeye out on something, to get his attention. "Pierce, how _could_ you?"

"How could I do _what_, Frank?" Hawkeye asked very innocently as he turned away from me, smiling as he picked up a clipboard from the corner bed next to where I was sitting. "I also didn't know that the Army was demanding a new uniform. Where was the memo?"

"This is no new uniform, you degenerate," Frank hissed, waving part of his pants, even in front of a patient in a jaw sling, mind you. "You stole my belt, stole my shirts and switched pants sizes on me! I am wearing an enlisted man's uniform pants now, without proper rank!"

"Oh, come off it, Major," I decided to say bravely, testing the waters as I twisted my body around to face the two. "What difference does it make? We're all one color here, right?"

"And that's supposed to be red," Hawkeye added, making a check mark on the clipboard before he moved on to the next bed. "Red for blood, Frank. We're all the same here. Why does it matter you have somebody else's green pants, which everyone wears, by the way?"

"Find me my pants and shirts, Pierce!" Frank screamed, taking off his cap and throwing it to the ground, stomping on it in the process. In the meantime though, his pants fell down and there was a good sore site for all to see.

There was an immediate response, I have to say, but Frank did not see it right away because of how involved he was with Hawkeye. Nurses turned away quickly, some of them turning pink in the face with embarrassment, although I saw some snicker. Patients who were up and about had to avert their eyes, some of them also snickering at the officer who now was giving them a show. Hawkeye and I could not stop laughing, him most of all. I had to cover my mouth with my hand, trying to keep meek and quiet without getting on report, but I could not help myself. Hawkeye was slowly drawing me out, bringing out the best in me, and it delighted me to be that person again.

And then, of course now, there was Henry. Good old Henry, whose annoyance was now at an edge (and might topple over). He soon came over to us, tapping Frank on the shoulder to remind him of something important. And while Frank was shocked and did not bother to stop showing off, he saw his mistake quickly enough and pulled whatever he had left up. And _boy_, was Frank red in the face too! I don't think I saw a man more humiliated in my life, not even Clarence, my stepfather, when he made a scene in the driveway.

Then again, I don't think Clarence _knows_ the meaning of shame, except on others. I could see the similarities between him and Frank and also the differences. While I did not want to see how the two were the same, I also saw that Frank might have delighted in making others miserable, but he was above the law and would ensure that his tracks were covered. In this case, I was sure that he would get even with Hawkeye…and that his opponent would be there to counter this senior officer always.

"You know, Frank, you're out of uniform," Henry said seriously, trying not to crack a smile too (his mouth twitched and I saw it). "I will have to put you on report to General Barker."

"And you let those…those…_animals_…get away with running around in their _robes_ and worse?!" Frank screamed, pulling Henry behind the curtain to the office for more privacy, even though there was none, especially with a bare behind still being shown. "_I_ will get you no report, Colonel! Make no doubt about that!"

It was then, behind that curtain, that Frank disappeared into the office space, door flapping behind him like a tree in the breeze. From where we were, the three of us heard him yelling at poor Radar (who was most likely getting into something he wasn't supposed to) and some things being thrown about the office with Radar protesting about how he cleaned the office just yesterday. Then, there were some orders that Radar was going to patch in a call to somebody or another and he had to do it _now_.

Henry tried hard not to laugh along with the others as he came back from behind the curtain, but there were catcalls behind him that he had to still. "Easy now, men," Henry cautioned to the crowds behind him. "There'll be more where that came from."

"Will he join the USO?" a wounded man asked him, the same one who had his jaw in a sling.

"I'm sure we'll hear an announcement from Major Burns' booking agent soon," Hawkeye added with a wink to the wounded man, looking back to me with his blue, blue eyes and coming back to me. "So, Jeanie, how about it? Lunch at the minefield?"

It took me seconds to give Hawkeye an answer. From the merriment of the people around me (save for the sniveling nurses who were pissed about me getting some attention) to the laughter in Hawkeye's eyes, I could not deny something that I've wanted since that night in the Swamp. I had to go along with what my heart was telling me…and it was telling me to take it for what it was, to take some chances, and to be the Jeanie that was supposed to be.

"Take me away," I only said, even as Henry growled and had to walk away to meet up with Frank again, giving us the privacy that never could be. "Just give me a time and I'll be there."

Hawkeye said nothing in return. I saw the new shine in them though, something I never saw when he was with other women. I could have been imagining it (of course, honeymoon periods lasted so long), but there was no mistaking what Hawkeye wanted. I wasn't a new conquest since I seemed to be much different from the other nurses. I was just a friend, something he craved in a world where there seemed to be few and more to fight against.

And that was fine with me too. I was content to being a friend…although I was wishing for more too.


	2. Circle of Steel

It was slowly becoming a cold late autumn here in Korea, but the day was becoming warmer as the sun rose and no shots were within hearing range. However, I didn't care about all of that as the afternoon turned a little heated. I couldn't help now but anticipate the arrival of my twin brother Dean soon, but it would be some time yet before I would see him, maybe a month or so, I could not tell. And that time wasn't going to be now, when I was sitting here by the minefield, having Hawkeye paint my toenails (comical as that was surely). However, it was high time for this sister to write another stupid letter, when there was time to and when a certain doctor was not sucking on some toes of mine…even if it was threatened that it would happen.

Even though that horrible night in the Mess Tent was seared into my mind (as well as that meeting in Henry's office the following morning), time alone was a luxury both Hawkeye and I could not afford lately. The warm weather was also fleeting too, especially when it involved drying nail polish and ensuring there was time to suck on said colder toes. Although I was admiring how precise Hawkeye was with his fingers, I also was trying very hard not to move so he could get the job done. Sighing, I picked up some empty paper and a pen from my pocket.

_November 3, 1950  
The 4077__th__, Korea to the 43__rd__, Tokyo_

_Dean, Dean, Dean…_

_I know I wrote you a couple of days ago, but I am trying my hand at writing more and more often, since it's been commented I am better when I do. I'm sure you're just as uncomfortable as I am now (haha, doubt it). Here, it's gotten colder in some ways. While I highly suggest winter gear when you get here (you'll need it when you're running, trust me), you'll also want some summer gear too. It's been on and off lately. Right now, I'm sitting here, having my nails painted._

_Yeah, you read that right. Someone is putting nail polish on my little toes. While it's a little too chilly for it (and having no tent to do it in), I have to thank Hawkeye for his persistence. I was wary at first when he proposed the idea, knowing firsthand how a man's touch makes me either go crazy or cringe, but he's made it appear so easy that I had to allow him to continue. The cold isn't making it easier either, with it being so hard to get the liquid to dry and not gel, and I knew this going in. Hawkeye just seems a little persuading, is all._

_Things seems well with your unit, I've heard from here. It's the first of its kind, being assigned to make sure units like ours don't go mobile and run back to the Front Lines when ordered to when it gets too much on that end. I think it's a grand idea, almost like a personal guard, and it'll be great to see you again of course. However, I am always worried, trying to put that stupid family curse to one side (it's not true and you know it too, so don't remind me of it) and think the war can't touch the good guys like we are. However, being here makes me think the opposite. I've seen too many of those same people like us die._

_I can't allow it to get to me though. Even if I am aging faster than I used to (I mean, I had my playful side when I was in Germany and even kept youthful in a war zone) and I see it in others too, it bothers me. It makes me wonder what war is all about, if we all hate it so. I mean, it's like hell, but like Hawkeye pointed out once, hell is full of sinners, if we are to believe the Holy Bible. War is full of innocent people – women, children, soldiers and us. We're all forced to play in this masquerade and pretend that it's something patriotic we're participating in._

_We'll get into that when you get here and have some time to drink and talk. Right now, have a little fun in Tokyo. I'm sure you deserve it as much as I do, even though I am not interested in the geishas I'm sure are still kicking around. I am exhausted from this work and wish with all of my heart that we are sent home soon, before any real damage (such as that confrontation a few days ago) turns into something worse than what we are facing now._

_With much more love – Jeanie_

_PS: If Mom and Clarence wish it, send them my love as well. I hardly write to them these days and it's such a bother. It might confuse them, if they are in such a mood._

I stopped writing, unsure of what else to add to Dean other than the usual things. I mean, I had sent a lengthy letter a few days before. He knew about the issues I've been having with people. I always did, to be honest, and never played with others. When I looked at Hawkeye though, so concentrated on his task as he moved to the other foot, I think that perhaps I _can_ play well with some people. For about two months now, he's been so interested in me and I in him that I am believing it to be an affair. I couldn't call it love just yet, although I still felt like a giddy teenager and feeling that a touch and a kiss would make me happy. However, I would have called it that, if you asked me that day. Just feeling pampered seemed to do that to me, especially from a man who paid more attention to me than all the other nurses we knew combined.

Suddenly, I felt my smallest toe tickled, feeling that they had been sucked (and the threat had been carried out). "Hawkeye!" I exclaimed, wanting to throw something at him and finding nothing except landmines and rocks, making me out of luck.

"What?" Hawkeye peered over my knees. "It seemed too adorable to not touch."

"But when they're so _dirty_?" I was laughing.

"Somebody has to do it."

"I can scrub them in the shower, Hawkeye. Just put the last of the nail polish on and we can get back to camp."

"It's too small though."

"What do you mean…the toe is too _small_?"

Hawkeye grinned. "Somebody had to pull it out. It might be a little bigger now…"

"Oh, Hawkeye." I sighed and tried to see what he was talking about. Low and behold, my smallest toes _were_ tiny and do dry that the cuticle had covered most of the nail.

I leaned back and tried relaxing once more, allowing Hawkeye to paint it even though I hardly thought of consulting my inner feminine side to fix the issue of dry skin. He finished finally, blowing at my feet to ensure that each toe dried. It wasn't going to and I knew it. I felt each one hold onto the globs carefully, the red color settling after a few minutes and threatening to come undone if I moved the wrong way. Hawkeye blew on them again, soon bored and scooting closer to me. He pulled me right into his arms and it seemed very close for me, the closest we had been on contact to be honest, and it felt so right. I cuddled right into it, throwing my arms around his and laying my head in his elbow.

"You know, I was trained as an artist," Hawkeye began.

"I don't want to hear about it," I replied, not feeling annoyed, but feeling like I needed to make this a bigger joke than it should be. "I mean, you possibly went to Italy or France to study…"

"No," Hawkeye confirmed. "It all started in Boston, once upon a time…"

"Did you go to an art museum?"

"How did you know?"

"I've heard the same story before. Once upon a time, a doctor got bored with his training, goes to a museum and leans on an attractive woman and tried to learn her secrets, since she seems to be the only woman in the room full of artwork. She's very lonely, a struggling artist and only wants to find a nice man to teach her trade to, before she fades away into an existence that includes dancing in the rain and smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee at some crummy underground café."

"That was close."

"Oh, so I missed a few details?"

"Yes. The woman I met there was actually very famous locally and liked me enough."

"Did you suck her toes too?"

"I kiss and don't tell. You should know that by now, Jeanie."

"Oh! So, we're not on discussing details of past affairs. Very well. Go on."

Hawkeye took a deep breath, as if telling a dramatic story. "She and I were looking at some painting, I can't remember which one. She was the one who invited me inside her home for some reason, commenting that she liked men with black hair."

"You've got to be _kidding_ me, right?" I laughed again.

"No," Hawkeye said, "and she liked me well enough to bring me home to show off to her friends who lived with her. I knew that she was an artist and was locally popular and all and played it up all the way until she decided that I was the one. She seemed pretty desperate too, by the way she grabbed my hand and her cigarette flew out of her mouth on the way out. She and I took a taxi out of the area and went back to her place to see her friends and do some other things consenting adults like doing."

"And…?"

"And she wanted nothing to do with me except for me to paint her nails. She had to show me how it was done of course, but it was easy after a foot."

"Did you examine her feet too, while you were at it?"

Hawkeye had to think about that. "No. She kissed me on the forehead and off I went."

I groaned. "Are you serious?" I asked, wanting to hoot and cry at the same time. "She feigned interested and just asked you to do what you did to me?"

"That's about right."

"You're lying."

"Am not. I have no reason to."

"Considering what you've told the other nurses to get out of things, I would assume it rightly can fit the bill if it's outrageous enough. For one thing, I know you're not married and have six children. It's just you to get out of unpleasant things except for your work."

This time, Hawkeye pouted. "Would you think the worst of me?"

His lips were close to mine. I wanted that kiss again, just _aching_ for it and having him come a little nearer than he normally did just to achieve. Hawkeye moved himself out of range, as if he were purposely taking what I craved the most out of my control, and instead sat up. I copied his movements, turning to where he was, and seeing that something was happening in the camp. There seemed to be someone important coming into the camp, perhaps General Barker (it seemed that way from the distance), and Henry seemed to be tripping over himself with the saluting and talking as he came outside. Radar was behind Henry and writing something down, maybe anticipating what our gallant CO was thinking before he did, and following the two as they went inside. An aide from the jeep followed them too, keeping his reasonable customary few paces behind them.

"What do you think?" I asked Hawkeye, unsure of what to make of the situation. We hadn't had a high ranking officer kicking around in some weeks now.

"I think someone needs some chocolates," Hawkeye replied, getting up. I did the same since I was being dumped for now, picking up my boots and the letter to Dean and daring myself to walk barefoot back to camp.

"What do you mean, someone needs some chocolates?" I asked, afraid of the answer.

"All you need to know is that generals come with wounded…and that I need to make a stop for supplies." Hawkeye stretched his legs quickly, making his way back to the camp with me behind him. "If you want to join in, let me know. I'm sure Trapper would be interested in making a care package for our favorite visitor."

Suddenly, we heard the announcement from the compound as we walked back together. "In honor of General Barker, we seem to have more VIP. Wounded on the choppers, everyone!"

With that, Hawkeye and I started turning our walk into a run, in search of a jeep to head to the landing. I was amazed that he knew that much about the arrival of such important people and anticipated the wounded coming in. I worked my way forward with him, without a thought in the world about what conspired just minutes before, and forgot about the red paint now smearing all over my bare foot. While I had a few curious and questionable stares from the others (especially Klinger, the resident crossdresser), I kept a rhyme in my mind that kept my eyes from seeing the blood, my ears from hearing the chopper wings and my nose from smelling the war, a mere three miles away from us.

I put my boots on in the jeep as we jumped into one, whizzing past everyone coming out. Words popped up in my mind as Radar drove a jeep for us to the chopper pad, a song that perhaps came unbidden and was a comfort anyway, for a season like this.

_Rows of lights in a circle of steel,  
Where you place your bets  
On a great big wheel.  
High windows flickerin' down  
Through the snow…  
A time you know,  
Sights and sounds  
Of the people goin' round.  
Everybody's in step with the season._

* * *

**Although written over twenty years later, the song lyrics above are from the Gordon Lightfoot song, "Circle of Steel".**


	3. Quite the Achievement

It was late at night. The dim lights of Post-Op seemed to be of little comfort to me, but that beside the point. I looked around the dismal place, to the sleeping men of the war to the only nurse on duty, and recall that I was a patient here for a little while longer and not the person on duty. The wounds from being so drunk (and with Major Simmons so temporarily part of the commanding team that nearly killed us all) bothered me a little. I wanted to pull the bandages away, feeling Hawkeye's skin right next to mine, and forget the whole incident. Although seared into my mind, forever wishing that justice would be served, it would always be a reminder to me that life was never fair and the Army always condemned the wrong men.

_And Henry was still right. I never played well with others._

Honestly, I remember little of what happened other than the fact I nearly died. That kept being put in my face constantly. Although annoying, it showed me something that made my mind's light bulb turn on permanently. More people, other than Henry and Radar, cared about me, Hawkeye most of all. It would be my last night here as a patient and the next would see me back on duty, but that was no matter to me. What I cared about was that there had been people on the other side who loved me more than I thought possible and that was enough for me.

I watched the team that worked the night shift carefully. Although Nurse Cain and Simmons did their rounds as they normally did, it did not give me much comfort. I needed Hawkeye around to keep my company and make me laugh. However, I knew that he was sleeping in the Swamp, since he had been up for several hours now, and trying to dispel the headache from all of the drinking we did from earlier. My lovely brother, Dean, wasn't kicking around the camp anymore and was heading down the road with his men and Trapper was quite busy with Nurse Henderson, doing mouth to mouth resuscitation in one of the VIP tents.

In truth, I was truly alone, even with the person I hated the most nearby. As Nurse Cain checked on me and declared that I was getting better (and her just a minor annoyance to begin with), Simmons came along. My blood started boiling just at the sight of him, especially since he sat next to me on the left and grinned. His icy blue eyes bore into my grey ones, trying to get to me and failing. I smiled back at him, giving him a show of being calm and feeling easy in my own bed.

"Don't get too comfortable, Captain," Simmons started, fingering something in his pockets. "You'll be out of here by the morning and _real_ wounded men will occupy it."

"Why?" I asked, feeling that I needed my wits about. "I didn't think you were one of them."

Simmons' face turned an unusual shade of red. "I could put you on report for this."

"And I could you on report for impersonating an officer and a gentleman. What do you want from me?"

"Respect. Every officer wishes it."

"You mean, every _human_ wants it. In this world, it should not matter where you are on the totem pole. Kindness and respect matter to all."

"When it is earned, it would be. As a major in the US Army, I have earned it."

"As a human being, I doubt that very much…_Major_."

That one statement alone (an insult on my part, I would admit) turned Simmons' body, and not just his face, beet red, obviously embarrassed. He rudely took the clipboard from the foot of my bed and slammed it in his lap, writing in it furiously. I did not ask what he was putting in there, although I had an idea of what he was doing. I did not want to know though, feeling a shiver go down my spine. I figured that Simmons was nasty enough to destroy all of us on the first day on duty. What more could he do with us, now that Henry had been placed back in charge and was above his head?

Soon, Simmons had finalized his notation on the papers of my progress. He then put the clipboard back on the hook and called for Nurse Cain to give me more morphine. I was in obvious pain and was had suddenly started relapsing, which would need to be monitored carefully under his watchful eyes. I was about to protest, but the nurse got there before I did. She quoted that Hawkeye himself ensured that recovery was quick and that it had gone smoother than possible.

"Are you questioning me and my abilities, Nurse Cain?" Simmons snarled, the redness in his face receding as his authority went to his head once more. "I ordered morphine for this patient."

"On what grounds?" another person asked, which made all of us turned. Hawkeye stood before my bed, eying the charts on the clipboard carefully. "As chief surgeon, I watched this patient's progress and saw that, after the initial shock and infection from a lack of care, proper procedure was placed. Recovery was wonderful and the person lives. As one who appreciates human life above all things, I would suggest leaving those who actually _know _to handle it. It's pretty obvious you don't want some to live, Major."

"That's a heavy accusation, Captain Pierce," Simmons stated, crossing his arms as he stood up to face Hawkeye.

"Anyone ask for my opinion?" I butted in, seeing if I could test the waters.

"Not yet," Hawkeye confirmed. "I'm not done yet."

"What more do you need to say, Captain?" Simmons seemed pretty annoyed at this point, since his plans had been spoiled. "You didn't pay attention and your patient slipped."

"I don't see anything careless about my work, Major. Unless if I think what you're doing is wrong, then I see an overdose and a scalpel in your back pocket. Do you deny that?"

"Always."

"Then, why do you have surgical instruments on your person? I'm sure Major Houlihan would have a field day, since her nurses are in charge of cleaning and keeping track of them."

"I needed it to open a box of supplies. None of your business otherwise."

"There are box cutters all over the place. You could have asked Radar for one."

"Nearest thing I had."

"I doubt it, Major. Let it out. You wanted Captain Morrison dead."

"What sane man would admit to murder?"

"What insane man would kill an innocent woman?"

"Can I interrupt for a second here?" I saw the argument heating up and wanted to chime in something. "Say Major Simmons here stole surgical equipment –"

"I didn't," Simmons interjected.

"Regardless," I continued, waving my hand in indifference. "Say you did. Hawkeye is right. Your excuse is lame and so are your stories. I am not in pain except for a dull throb. That's nothing, to be honest, and something I can deal with. You, on the other hand, I cannot handle, seeing you as a pain in the ass. Your intent is circumstantial. We have no evidence that you were intending to kill me. However, your order to provide medicine to those who don't need it is quite obvious."

"You've gotten away with too much already," Hawkeye added. "Don't push it."

"So, forget about the report and we'll forget about this incident. Just rip up your notes and write new ones." I looked at Nurse Cain. "I'm sure your nurse companion will not tell the colonel too."

"I will," Nurse Cain promised, trying to get a glance from Hawkeye and failing. Her gaze then fell on me, as if it were my fault, and then went stoic.

Simmons looked at us as if we were senseless. "You're all lying."

"You sure you don't want me to wake up our CO?" Hawkeye inquired. "He won't be happy about it, but I'm sure he'll be happy to can you."

Pursing his lips tightly, Simmons left in a huff and went outside, angry and kicking some gas cans nearby. Hawkeye nodded to Nurse Cain, as if she did a good job, and went to sit next to me. As he did, he took the clipboard and rewrote everything down, taking out Simmons' notes and putting in new ones. He smiled as he did it though, as if this chore off duty was pleasing to him, and he laughed when he reread his notes. As he did this, his blue eyes twinkled in the most delightful way and it made me glad to see him changed. I surely thought that Hawkeye would go ahead with his threats of going to Henry. After awarding our gallant CO with the Purple Chicken (after dodging bullets from the pistol under his pillow), Hawkeye would have gotten Henry to go to Simmons.

"You still sure you can't play well with others?" Hawkeye inquired, something that had been coming up more and more often these days.

"I am," I confirmed, sitting up. "And I didn't start it this time."

"Oh?"

"It was that bully, you know. He started pushing me around and I had to fight back."

"Don't we all?"

"Of course. That's supposedly the American way."

Hawkeye stopped writing and put it all away. "Listen, Jeanie –"

"Are you going serious on me now?" I asked, interjecting when I knew I shouldn't have.

"Yes and no," Hawkeye confirmed, his honesty making me love him more. "I'm worried. Don't mind me. Mother Hen at your service."

"I'm not too worried right now," I replied. "I'm sure we can get past anything. We have so far."

"What if we don't this time?"

"It was a close one, I'd admit, and I would have called it out nonetheless. I would have walked out of this building and went to Henry anyway."

"With him trailing behind you?"

"I'm sure Nurse Cain would have said something. Someone could have noticed it by morning too."

"When it might have been too late?"

"It might have been," I conceded, "but it wasn't. Luckily, you came and Nurse Cain was able to side with us. What happened though? I thought you were sleeping."

"I was," Hawkeye replied. "That is, until a certain company clerk woke me and trusty Trapper John up and said Simmons was up to no good. Trapper was even unhappy to be missing dreams of his date earlier this evening."

I had to laugh. "That's Radar, all right. You going back to bed now?"

"As soon as I can give this to Henry." Hawkeye yawned. "I won't wait until morning this time. Simmons needs to go down and no lives can be afforded this time. Afterward, I'm coming back for you."

"What? Why?" I was alarmed. "I'm here until tomorrow."

"Because I said so. You're well enough to be moved." Hawkeye then got up from his seat, stretching and calling over Nurse Cain. When she obeyed and came over, he ordered, "Nurse, I'm having Captain Morrison bunk elsewhere tonight. Prepare her to be transported to the Swamp. Captain McIntyre will be awake enough to receive her."

"What about Major Burns?" Nurse Cain asked, just as alarmed as I was about the prospect.

"Tell him to take a hike and jump on a landmine," Hawkeye replied tartly, leaving Post-Op quickly. Nurse Cain just looked at me, offering a kind hand to me.

As I leaned on the nurse on duty and put on some slippers, Nurse Cain said, "You know, he loves you a lot."

"What?" I was in no mood for the games. "What are you talking about?"

"Everyone is talking about it, Captain," Nurse Cain admitted, taking my coat from under the bed and helping me into it. She then started the trek to the Swamp, the cold air whipping at us as soon as we went outside. "Captain Pierce hasn't been eying any other nurses except for you. It's said that he saw you all alone in the colonel's office and went foolish with love."

"I'd say that's super silly."

"You're pretty much in love with him too. You can't deny that either."

"I don't say anything in order for gossip not to spread."

"Well, Captain, I'd consider myself pretty lucky. Hawkeye Pierce staying with one woman is pretty special and it makes me wonder too. He's been a ladies' man since he came here and tried forgetting the war. Although he has gotten all but Major Houlihan and perhaps you, he has eyes for one nurse alone and that's been you. Just try and be careful. Others, like me, are pretty jealous for a date."

"I'm just for a season, you –"

"I don't think so, Captain. You're the woman of his life."

The thought made me think. It's true that Hawkeye had not been molesting the rest of the nursing staff since we had been hanging out together. He has his eyes on me alone and would seek me out whenever he could. It was a wonderful thing, to see a man care for me this much, and a great feeling to have love (on my end for sure anyway). Hawkeye having me as the love of his life though? It was a laughable thing, but it also made me warm inside. It wasn't too impossible, I thought, and it would be too good to be true.

"I guess you're right," I finally replied to Nurse Cain once we reached the Swamp. "Having Hawkeye's attention is enough. Being the so-called woman of his life would be quite the achievement indeed."


	4. Are You Good at Art?

I had been napping off of a long shift and then some in the Swamp when I felt a hand shaking my shoulder urgently. Well, it was a long night full of drinks, smoking, pretzels from the Officers' Club and poker in the Swamp to be honest, but that did not matter to me either way after dealing with Frank Burns as my partner in surgery during the day and then a shift afterward. All that bothered me at that moment (other than Frank's slimy cold hands touching mine earlier and Margaret eying me with suspicion) was that someone was constantly trying to get me awake. Although a headache and the cold had been bothering me, whoever was on the other end of that hand was getting an earful when I was able to get the vision to clear up and my words were poised to sting.

I had been sleeping in a comfortable chair, the weak wintry sunshine hitting my face as I rolled over and groaned, the seat almost tipping me out as memories of the last party overwhelmed me. Although this last poker game had been kept within personnel of the camp and did not include outside friends, I still was annoyed by the lack of great slumber, the smoke from Henry's cigar and even Klinger's skirt that kept getting in my way every time I went to get up for a drink. Still, it was a wonderful night I did not want to forget and one that I did not want to wake up from. I wanted to relive dancing with Hawkeye for hours as we counted our winnings (although Father Mulcahy was the true winner) in tune with the songs played, Trapper pouring more and more drinks and Radar falling asleep at the table, teddy bear in hand.

As soon as my eyes adjusted though, there was Trapper (speak of the devil). Although wrapped in what seemed to be a million layers of clothing, he still was grinning from ear to ear and not complaining about the cold for once. He was up to something and I knew it. That much was certain.

"Are you awake enough?" Trapper started, although his question was quite stupid.

"Do you think I want to be?" I fired back, feeling my mouth with my tongue and trying to get the thick grim out of it. I was tempted to spit it out by Frank's cot, but I decided that swallowing was more politic.

"I would assume so, considering what happened in the OR and then Post-Op."

"Don't remind me."

"Oh, _ho_! So, we _do_ want a little revenge?"

"If I could have it, yes, I would go for it."

Trapper had something up his sleeve and it concerned Frank, which excited me on the inside. I had to admit that my post-surgery shift, before going to the Officers' Club for the pre-game fun had been, shall I say, _annoying_. Frank was his normal beaming personality naturally and also had a temper to add to it. He and Margaret had gotten into an argument in a fit of passion (something that happened just after OR) and it left Frank not only with hickies all over his body, but also red marks where he had been slapped, most of them on his face. In turn, he was blaming everyone for everything, from the medication the patients were getting to the way Klinger was cleaning out the bedpans. He even screamed at me in front of the patients, as well as the other nurses milling about, for giving a wounded officer what I was told to give him. It happened the whole shift and it was enough to make me want to punch Frank in the face before I left for the Officers' Club and then the Swamp.

I didn't think it worth the years in the stockade to attack a ranking officer though. I just smiled and nodded at Ferret Face, heading to the Officers' Club afterward for some drinks and fun and then to the Swamp for poker. Although I wasn't in a talkative mood and only exchanged glances with Hawkeye every once in a while before the game, it was still relaxing and a little to my tastes. It was cheery too, the way people were talking about the Christmas season and what they would do if they were home, ignoring the fact that Major Simmons was facing a trip down to Leavenworth. It also made me think of Bloomington in a fashion, how Mom and Clarence would get us ready for church and make us pray for hours. It was enough to make me puke.

"So, how good at you at art?" Trapper then asked me, holding out some newspaper and glue.

"Not very," I admitted, getting up and stretching. I wasn't getting where Trapper was going with his supplies.

"Well, you see, it's almost that time of year for a little good luck," Trapper explained. "Every winter in some South American countries, when it gets a little colder, they hit what's called a piñata. It's usually the village idiot and they do it to the worst in order to get good luck for the next year. Whoever hits it the most gets the most good luck."

The way Trapper said the story made me want to believe him, even though I knew it was a bunch of shit. "They do not!" I was laughing though.

"Do so," Trapper protested with a pretty pout. "I just wanted to continue the tradition. So, are you good with art or not?"

It took me a minute to consider before I took the things out of Trapper's hands. "You know, come to think of it, I _am_ pretty good with making masterpieces. Now, where is this so-called village idiot you speak of?"

Frank had been sleeping off the last shift from the day before, stumbling into the Swamp after the poker game. I did not notice, through my own drunken slumbers, that he had arrived and did not care had I had agreed to be a part of plot. However, what I did see was that he was already wrapped in some sort of plastic sheet, occasionally dotted with some chocolate and other candies. I held back a giggle, using Trapper's directions to wrap the new toy. After half an hour and many times where we had to tell the other to shut up, Frank was finished and still asleep. We admired our work for a few more minutes, waiting for the glue to dry. It didn't take long since it was so cold, but when it did, Trapper was ready to get Frank hit.

By then, Trapper had quickly went outside, grabbing a gurney from around the corner and wheeling it inside the Swamp, the door still open. With a motion of his hand to indicate that Frank needed to be transported, we lifted Major Pain up and secured him by tying some rope around him and the metal bed. When we were sure that Frank was not going to wake up yet (I mean, he was whimpering for his mother in his sleep), we pushed him outside into the December cold. Trapper directed and I took the lead, walking through the camp and behind the kitchens. Right where the cook took the perilous supplies, where the leftover rotting food slimed the mud, Hawkeye and Radar stood. The former could not stop snickering while the latter was nervously peering everywhere to check for Margaret.

"Sirs…I mean, Ma'am too…don't you think we shouldn't be doing what I think we're going to be doing so we don't do it?" Radar stammered, hoping that we wouldn't go through with the prank.

"Nonsense, my dear Radar," Hawkeye reassured him, patting him on the back. "Frank won't know a thing. So, just keep those glasses handy. You'll need them soon."

Again, on a silent command, Trapper again had me untie and pick Frank up. Groaning under the dead weight, since I alone was doing it as Trapper helped Hawkeye prepare something sinister, I carried old Ferret Face to where Hawkeye was and almost dropped him in the mess left behind by the cook. Hawkeye only grinned, tying the rope around Frank as I held him. He then nodded, allowing me to release him. As I did, Frank seemed to have started to levitate. However, I only knew that was happening because Hawkeye was pulling on some other ropes to keep him from the ground. It took some work to get Frank a little higher, but when Hawkeye managed to succeed in getting Ferret Face high enough, he tied one end to a post on the ground. When all four of us looked up to see our handiwork, we saw that Frank was still sleeping, oblivious to what happened to him, and that the whole camp could now see him and was now within easy reach of a pole or three.

"Hey! Beat a piñata, anyone?" Trapper yelled, something that got the natives pretty restless. Before we knew it, the area was _flooded_ with people who wanted to play this game.

It was best to stand back and watch the action from afar away, especially when one needed to avoid being incriminated. Rubbing my arms and wishing for a shower and maybe some food (if I didn't feel the need to study the grey matter), I walked away with Hawkeye and Trapper. Radar had decided that enough was enough and scampered away to appear that he was not guilty, staying far away from us and in the opposite direction. In the meantime, as people lined up to beat Frank with some sticks, we heard the lovely Major Burns scream that he was alive and to stop as candy poured out from the holes in the plastic sheet and newspaper and glue.

Passing Henry, who had been curious about the commotion and held Leslie Dish in his arms on the way to the party, the three of us went back to the Swamp. Finding a seat around the still, Trapper started pouring some drinks for everyone. We made a silent toast about a job well done, drinking the gin. Finally, there was the refill (and all before my breakfast, by the way) and the wish that Dean would come back to us ok. I mean, Hawkeye and Trapper had just met my brother. They liked him enough and thought him too serious at times, but easy to break in and much more fun to get drunk with. As we heard Margaret screaming at Henry some yards away about Frank and how he got up where he is, Hawkeye cracked a smile and raised his glass.

"To old Ferret Face," he said. "Maybe he get the point."

"Hear, hear," Trapper added loudly.

"I doubt it, but we can hope." I drank with the pair, watching the chaos outside and waiting for Henry to call us to his office. It was a matter of time now.

As time passed though, nothing happened. Henry did not send Radar after us nor did Margaret and Frank accuse us of doing the deed. I would have gladly taken the blame, but for now, I was content in sitting there, cold and tired, and hearing people outside the Swamp talk about how much fun it was to be hitting Frank without any punishment. I chuckled, glancing at both Trapper and Hawkeye in turn before the former decided that he had a date with a nurse. He bid us a fond farewell, saying that he'll make sure to leave the coat hanger for us if we chose it, and soon was gone. This left me and Hawkeye alone together, the both of us sipping on our drinks still. While Hawkeye was soon up and pulling down the extra flaps on the tent, making sure that the freezing air stayed out, he also was putting some wood into the stove. He then sat back down, sighing as he did, and he stared at me for a second before taking out some paper from under his pillow behind him.

"I was writing a letter to my dad," he started awkwardly. "I was wondering if you'd like to add a word or two. He'd like to hear from you."

"Two maybe, if he's lucky," I replied, laughing. "How kind of you to ask."

Hawkeye managed to get me some more paper. In the meantime, with what space he had left on his letter and into the next pages handed to me, I started posing my first note to Dr. Daniel Pierce of Crabapple Cove, Maine. I put down that it was a joy to meet Hawkeye, how things were on my end (being as vague as I could be) and then how working here at the 4077th turned out to be. I remained as positive as I could, knowing that Hawkeye possibly told his dad the worst already, and damned my cramping hand when I was done and signed my name on the bottom of the next page, proud that I was able to get so much in. By then, Hawkeye had scanned it, put it in the envelope and sealed it. He then wrote his name and then mine on the top left corner and then the address of his home in Crabapple Cove – so familiar to him – and left it without the stamp under his pillow once more.

I moved closer to Hawkeye, managing to somehow sit in his lap without meaning to (I swear!). Although I was short and small to his tall and thin form, Hawkeye held me tightly, fiddling with my pants and coat, putting his cold hands against my breasts when he reached them and moving them down. While there was no way someone would peek in as he played, I was worried that someone would be walk in (like Frank) and make a comment. I loved privacy as much as the next person and tried hard to swap Hawkeye away to avoid getting caught. He was not going to be deterred though. Hawkeye wanted a little fun and he was taking advantage of the fact that I had not eaten yet, drank a little and always was adventurous with him.

"Hawkeye, don't you think we should wait?" I asked in a worried tone, my voice also revealing that I wanted more and more and more.

"Wait…for _what_?" Hawkeye inquired as a reply, his face soon touching my bare skin and his teeth on my neck.

"Never mind." I was enjoying it. Right now, it was best to just go with the flow and take off my pants, thinking that it was now time for some riding. "Ok, then, let's play our own game. The rules are simple. Just obey me and nothing will go wrong. Understand?"


	5. Let There Be Peace

Christmas Eve and the upcoming day afterward had always been pretty depressing for me. Not only had it been ruined in childhood my by mother and stepfather (although Dean and I always tried to do something for each other), but the Army (and the CIA too) always found ways to make this holiday so damned joyless. It was my first year in Korea for the holidays and I could not find a way to be cheery, despite the fact that Father Mulcahy had instilled in me some charity and happiness in helping others. While the rest of the camp had been a mess, the Mess Tent celebrations offered me no succor by the time I was off a shift and Hawkeye was not in sight. I had to count supplies for Margaret anyway, thinking it would take my mind off of the last Christmas in West Germany, and went in that direction, ignoring the calls for me to sit down and relax from Calvin.

By the time I got to the Supply Room, it was cold and empty. I picked up the clipboard from a shelf as I turned the lights on and checked the list a few times, feeling like one of Santa's helpers except I was not shorter, cuter and full of joy. I started from the far end first, seeing that the blanket supply was in good order and that some coats, boots and pants had been missing. I marked that down for Margaret to figure out somehow (thinking that perhaps a certain Captain Tuttle was on the prowl again) and moved on towards bandages and other medication, locked away in a special corner opposite. Writing down that we needed more (and grimacing when my hand cramped with the effort of writing), I moved on towards other Army equipment.

It seemed that all was in order…or as far as it's going to be, I thought. I was about to leave when I noticed that I was not alone in the Supply Room anymore. Upon checking (since I thought I was totally alone and did not hear anyone come in), I saw that Father Mulcahy was around a corner, quietly counting the same things I did and overlooking a list in his hands. He mouthed out some numbers to himself (ten being the number he stopped at), perhaps thinking of something much needed, and he was about to take a pile of blankets when he too saw me. His look of shock was quickly wiped away with his usual smile.

"Oh, good evening, Jeanie," Father Mulcahy greeted, trying to seem innocent as he tried hiding his deeds behind his back. "I was just –"

"Father, you can take as many as you need," I interrupted, seeing what this was all about immediately. I was drunk most of the time, but I wasn't blind…yet. "I'll write some of them off."

"Captain, I –"

"Father, please, I insist. You don't need to sneak around with me. Besides, I don't think Major Houlihan is going to miss ten blankets. We're overstocked on them anyway, to be honest, and I believe, just like you, that there are more people out there who need them than we do. Everyone in camp is all set, the patients are warm in their beds and these are just sitting here and collecting dust. Take them. _Please_."

Father Mulcahy did not know what to do and I couldn't blame him. Usually, he has been going through regular channels to get what he needed for the orphans. However, as time passed, the Army thought them too needy and have been denying the good Padre anything. This was part of the reason why Hawkeye had been writing things off in the name of Captain Tuttle. Not to mention, he had been passing things to Sister Theresa as well, sneaking them under the nose of the ever-interfering Major Margaret Houlihan. I thought it noble, even though it was technically stealing from the US Army. Now, as I looked at Father Mulcahy, who was about to go through some extremes to get the children things they needed, I could not bring myself to report him. Not now, not _ever_. I can easily lie on paper, much better than words anyway.

To reiterate what I said, I erased whatever I put on the clipboard, changing the numbers to benefit Father Mulcahy. Then, without him moving, I went forward and counted out ten blankets. I found an extra bag to put them in, just so that they could remain hidden for the time being, and then gently prodded the Padre for his list. When he gave it to me, I was alarmed to see that more food was necessary, followed up with bandages and salve, some wood for the fire and roofing supplies. While we were low in the heating department, I still recalled Henry's desk being taken apart for some wanted fires. The cook had leftovers in the kitchen. Sergeant Zale had extra things for the roof. Bandages and salve were easy fixes on my end, again with the use of an eraser and some figure changing.

"Wait here," I ordered Father Mulcahy. "I'll be right back."

First things first, I mused to myself. I was going to need some help, especially when it came to the heat. While Radar was usually ideal, I found that he was busily typing out his daily report in his office area and did not appear to want to be disturbed. Henry was out of the question and so were the other nurses. Klinger did not like Zale (one or the other always argued), Painless Pole had an issue with the cook (something to do with weevils in his chocolate pudding the other week) and the other camp personnel were greedy with their wood and other necessities. This left my favorite people, Hawkeye, Trapper and Calvin.

Quickly, I checked the Mess Tent again and saw that Calvin was putting on a show. He sucked in a lot of people, including Trapper and his date of the night, Nurse Nancy Bigelow. Squeezing in and bantering with some people as cheers for a merry holiday were shouted out to me, I tapped Trapper on the shoulder and whispered that I needed to see him for a few minutes. Nurse Bigelow was not pleased, let me tell you, and gave me the most vicious stare I had seen out of a nurse in some time. I mean, a lot of them still resented me for loving Hawkeye and being his one and only, but that did not include just hating me for who I am. While all of that did not matter anymore, I felt more confident just to give her a piece of mind had Trapper not stepped between us and told Nurse Bigelow that he'd be right back and not to wait up for him.

"Jeanie, I never _knew_," Trapper gushed as soon as I left him outside of the Mess Tent, stopping by the doors for a quiet conversation. "There is a line though. Sign-up sheet is in the Swamp."

I laughed. "Not this time, Trapper. I've got something a little more important to do. Have you seen Hawkeye?"

"Tell me what it is and I'll let you know where he is."

"Well, this involves Father Mulcahy –"

"A man of the cloth! For shame, Jeanie!"

I laugher louder, holding my sides because they hurt so much. "For God's sake, Trapper, let me finish. Now, I just need some help getting roofing stuff, wood and some good kitchen leftovers for the orphans. Father Mulcahy is taking them out tonight before Santa comes. Think you can manage?"

"I'll handle Zale, you get the cook?" Trapper asked, his nose wrinkling with the prospect of dealing with food we never liked to eat. "I think Hawkeye would like to give him a piece of his mind anyway. I can wheel and deal for anything else."

"I'm sure. Now, where is Hawkeye?"

"Down by the stream. He took a jeep down there some time ago."

My heart suddenly sank. It had been maybe a month that I was certain that Hawkeye was all mine and that this was not a season of love, but maybe a lifetime of it. Before our relationship began, when he was down by the stream with a jeep, which circled around the minefields that littered the camp, he was with another nurse and giving them a good look over, including but not limited to taking clothes off and giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My body shivered with jealousy, thinking of which nurse might be taking my place, but I made the images disappear immediately. There had to be a reason why Hawkeye was where he was. I just had to accept it and move on, even if there is another nurse there.

"I'll meet him there," I reassured Trapper. "Just check in with me in the Supply Room and help Father Mulcahy, will you?"

Trapper nodded, heading in one direction. I ran the other way, down the road towards Hawkeye. To quell my anxiety, I took deep breathes and clenched my fist, not realizing that I was walking so fast that I was soon behind Hawkeye. He had been working on something under the jeep he was using and seemed startled to hear footsteps (namely mine) behind him. He turned around, a look of guilt on his face, and then smiled. He then slid something under the vehicle with his foot and put his dirty hands back in his coat pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet and showing me that he was pretty busy and did not want me to know what it is. I saw no other nurse in sight, which was a good sign, and returned the sentiment at him.

"Can you spare a few minutes?" I asked Hawkeye with my smile turned to a frown. "We have a problem and it does not require Captain Tuttle this time."

Hawkeye nodded in understanding. "Did you change a few things on paper?"

"Of course I did." Hawkeye knew I was in charge of checking the other supplies and I felt insulted when asked that question. "Margaret won't know the difference. However, Trapper is with Zale on the roof and heat and we're on KP."

"I never thought to be doing Klinger's job," Hawkeye commented, taking me by the arm and leading me back to camp. "What are we picking up?"

"Anything edible, I would assume," I commented dryly, snuggling close although I was feeling pissy. "As much as we can too. I don't want these kids starving by the time we see them tomorrow."

"Yeah, Merry Christmas and all that, right?" Hawkeye sounded bitter.

I didn't want to answer that. Hawkeye seemed so tired of the war, just like the rest of us, and saw the horrible situation these poor children were facing daily. Just to sneak out things to them to keep them alive was the best thing we could do although we saved lives too, people that were going to be sent back to the Front Lines for the most part and then either brought back to us or killed where they stood. It was the most unimaginable thing we all had to see and experience and one that I would never wish on anyone…_ever_. War was not hell because that Christian fiery eternity was full of supposed sinners. War kills without discrimination and spares no family of grief and pain, especially those orphans who slept in the cold.

For a few minutes, the two of us did not speak, reaching the back door of the kitchen and stopping before the door, not knocking. Finally, when I reached to brush my knuckles against it for permission to enter, Igor opened the door. Although dumb at times and always taking the brunt of our complaints and jokes about the food, I felt so sorry for the man who served us the mush we tried eating. Stammering that dinner was not going to be served tonight, he tried closing the door on us, but Hawkeye put a foot there before we felt the rejection of that slam.

"My good man, we need some help for our lovely Christmas date," Hawkeye started in his kindest and most persuasive tone. "We would need a sack of your best food, tied and ready to go. Maybe a few sandwiches, some boiled eggs perhaps…"

I unlinked my arm from Hawkeye's. "Some jugs of water too, if you can spare it. I mean, we're pretty hungry."

"I don't want to know," Igor muttered as he headed back inside, noting that Hawkeye's foot had moved from the doorway. "Officers…I just don't want to know…"

Within a few minutes and without complaints of his own, Igor returned with our foodstuffs. He shoved the sack at Hawkeye before slamming the door in our faces. Satisfied, the two of us took off quickly, heading back to the Supply Room as fast as we could. There, we met with Trapper and Father Mulcahy. The four of us exchanged some knowing looks, the conspirators that we were, and quietly picked up our things and followed the Padre outside to his jeep, hidden behind Post-Op. Trapper, Hawkeye and I then proceeded to pack the back seats with everything we gathered and then some. I then noticed that, while Hawkeye and I managed the food, Trapper had also tapped into the nurses' line of generosity and managed to get some toys and homemade clothing crafts for them, like mittens, hats and scarfs. One had even donated some extra coats sent from the States, which was very kind indeed.

Father Mulcahy soon was ready to go, climbing into the driver's seat and putting his helmet on. "Bless you, my children," he said with glee, the joy apparent on his face. "Bless you all! And thank you. Oh, thank you so much!"

Hawkeye, Trapper and I waved Father Mulcahy goodbye, watching the jeep leave camp quietly, twinkling into the darkness as the stars above did and disappearing into the night. Then, congratulating ourselves on a job well done, we parted from each other, although Hawkeye managed to catch up with me before I ran off into my quarters and led me in another direction without telling me how and why. Again, we were going back to the stream, something I didn't expect, although the back of my mind said that Hawkeye was up to something and it was good. From there, he seated me in the back of the vehicle and joined me, waving to the other side, like there was someone there and he was signaling them. This alone made me confused. Dean and his men were nowhere in sight and not expected back for another week or more.

_Who was helping Hawkeye? What's going on?_

Without warning, just as Hawkeye grabbed my hands and pulled me closer, a noise like a shot was sounded, whirling up to the sky and lighting it up in color. Fireworks! One after another flew up into the night and exploded into different shades – blue, gold, green, red and even purple. I watched in amazement, gasping in awe as one after another drew no attention from the enemy (or friendly fire for that matter) and then stopped some time later and after the whole camp saw the show. I did not know how much time passed, but I do know that when I turned back to Hawkeye, his lips were on mine and his arm was reaching for that something under the jeep.

"Merry Christmas, Love," Hawkeye said when we finished exploring each other's faces, handing me a box he pulled up.

"Hawkeye, I – no, Hawkeye – I mean, I didn't get anything for you," I protested, which made him laugh as he shushed my words with another kiss. Next, he helped me unwrap the box and then allowed me to see what was inside myself.

When I popped the lid and moved the tissue paper aside, I saw that Hawkeye had gotten me a necklace, but it was not made of any metal and jewels. No, it was homemade and tied together with string and seashells. It was so beautiful though, the way each different shell echoed the sound of waves they were surrounded by. I marveled it for a few minutes, touching each shape and wondering where it came from. I looked up to Hawkeye with rare tears in my eyes, feeling his hands take the necklace out of mine and put it over my head. Finally, the cool sea items rested against my chest, perfect and wonderful.

Hawkeye then gathered me up gently, pressing me to him. "Bows, ribbons and ties do not matter to me, Jeanie," he said to me. "What did was your heart. You are so caring, Love. That is a gift enough to me."

I smiled through my tears, burying my face into Hawkeye's green coat. "Merry Christmas, Love. Merry Christmas. Let there be peace next year."

"I hope so too," Hawkeye replied in a sorrowful way. "I wish for peace too."


	6. From Poker Games to Snipers

The New Year of 1951 always brought something different and exciting (albeit frightening in some ways) and today was no exception. Today, although the OR session and a tiring talk had brought me and Sidney closer together as friends (I mean, he was a great help in the OR and had even kept my secrets), there was another so-called "medical conference" with him that called us all to attention. Included in this was also Captain Sam Pak of the ROK, someone Henry liked enough and always invited to the conferences, pending his pay too. After all, we all have to make sure we're all on the same page and that we have much to bet on and can pay up.

I was in on this too. After a few random dizzy spells and hiding out in my quarters after talking with Sidney on and off (where I hardly stayed anyway), I managed to join another few rounds of poker in the Swamp. From there, the competition was on and it was fierce, lasting into the next morning, when nobody was on duty. Individuals came and went, but the gang remained the same and that was all that mattered to us.

Although I was loathe to bet against Hawkeye, I just enjoyed sitting across from him, feeling the occasional foot inch up my leg, and laughing all the way throughout the night into the morning. Henry was so drunk by the time the fifth round happened though, his cigar smoldering in the ashtray and his body drooping further and further down in his seat. Radar was more awake than he was before this conference, betting when he had a high card or a pair of twos and finally folding when he hardly had a quarter to toss in. Klinger, on the other hand, was giving us a run for our money and taking Father Mulcahy's place until the good Padre came in around six in the morning and helped himself to a few hands. Until Frank showed up to change for his shift, it had been a great time.

Suddenly, just as another dizzy spell worked its way through my body and we were between hands and drinks, I heard Hawkeye and Trapper distantly taunt Frank. The lovely major, who yelled back about how we need to peddle some fish, stormed out, muttering about a patient who did not want to go back to the front lines and had possibly shot himself in the foot. I hardly heard everything, pretending to put my head down for sleep and wishing that my head would stop ringing. I soon felt Hawkeye's hands on my back though, his mouth and then his teeth moving closer to my neck, and I perked up before he made a scene before the other perverts, naturally making it less uncomfortable for everyone by asking when the next hand was being dealt.

"Not so sleepy after all, huh?" Trapper got up and poured some gin from the still, passing out glasses to one and all except for Henry and Radar. The former was fast asleep on the floor and snoring and the latter refused, claiming it gave him a headache.

"Naw, not hitting the sack yet," I replied confidentially, hiding my sickness behind a smile, all for Hawkeye. I even batted my eyelashes a little at him to keep his attention on me and to get his mind off of me being ill. "Just feeling like exploring the inside of my eyelids sometimes."

"Sounds like a great plan," Hawkeye commented, taking his seat opposite of me once more. "Want to join me later?"

Sidney winked at me, almost like we had a personal pact already, and picked up the deck of cards and started dealing, calling out jacks and twos as wild and where we're stopping, nobody knew. Sam Pak nudged him at the side with his elbow, asking something about Freud and what he thought of compulsive gambling. Again, I could not hear, words garbled before my very ears. My mind was going in a million different directions, all of them begging me to lay down and forget about the game. I wasn't going to give up though, smiling once more and taking my hand from Sidney, betting more than I really should. I mean, I had a decent-sized pile of money, but my three of a kind wasn't going to get me anywhere.

In-between all of this, Radar said something about going to the latrine. All of us begged him to go since he folded the last time, adding that he wasn't missing anything. Indeed, the little bugger didn't take this hand in and wanted to watch, since he only had a dime to spare, but left quickly. The way he moved was a little off to me though, like he was expecting something catastrophic to happen and he needed to be elsewhere in order to avoid it. I tried dismissing it as nonsense and moved on with the game, calling for two cards and still keeping my three queens. I called afterward and waited, hoping that Radar would come back soon and we would joke again about how he can never hold it.

Just as Sidney was about to call and we were supposed to reveal our cards, we all heard a gunshot from the hills. Immediately, all of us (except Henry, who was on the floor already) ducked and covered, our heads missing a bullet that ran through the Swamp about the head level of Radar and whizzed past where he was sitting too. It ricocheted into the speaker on the other side and lodged itself into a pole. By then though, a rainstorm of bullets was hitting the camp.

The announcement came shortly afterward. "Attention! Attention, all personnel! Sniper on the compound. I repeat, sniper on the compound! Take cover!"

"Where's the 43rd when you need them?" Trapper yelled, crawling over to Henry and ensuring that he was safe where he was. Trapper ensured them by putting Henry's fishing hat over his face and flattening out his body on the floor.

"Some are down at Rosie's," Father Mulcahy offered. "I can go get them."

"No!" Klinger countered, a black veil covering his face in a mysterious way. "I can. Who the hell is going to shot at a lady like me?"

Before anyone could say anything and protest this arrangement, Klinger was out the door and rushing down the road to Rosie's. All of us moaned. Klinger, in high heels and a black funeral dress, out in this cold weather? He was going to get killed. Most of the men in the tent damned themselves and wished that they would have stopped him in time (Father Mulcahy most of all), but it wasn't doing any good anyway. The best we could do is hope that Klinger comes back alive and that we're not being shot at anymore.

I myself? Well, being on the floor had its perks. While I was saddened about Klinger, I wasn't going to go on about it like the rest of them were. I was going to wait until he came back or news followed in his wake and not think about the possibilities. However, it did make me wish that Dean was there. My brother was sent to the front lines some hours ago since some of his unit was needed to storm another hill. However, I think the lines shifted and came to us before Dean could stop the enemy. That was my humble opinion and it was best to keep it quiet, especially since Frank had reentered the Swamp and was screaming about the sniper and wanting to get everyone firing from the trenches.

"Really, Frank? At a time like this?" Hawkeye was not impressed, thinking that it was unkind to fight violence with violence. "Go find Margaret and peddle your own fish."

"Hardy har-har," Frank replied in a snobbish tone, grabbing his helmet from his shelf and his gun from under his pillow. "We'll see what happens. This is what is going to separate the men from the boys. This is – oh, dear."

Suddenly, Frank collapsed onto his cot, muttering about his mother and smashing his place of slumber into pieces. Behind him was Trapper, a syringe in his hands. He shrugged his shoulders, getting back on the floor with us and grinning from ear to ear. Smart move, I thought, and even I congratulated Trapper on it. Frank out of the way was the other best thing we needed and his gun-ho attitude was sure going to make dealing with the sniper worse.

Suddenly though, Father Mulcahy mentioned something else we forget in all of this mess. "Has anyone seen Radar?"

I panicked, bile in my throat when I thought about what the good Padre said. "Oh, my God, he's trapped in the latrine!"

"Somebody needs to get him out of there!" Hawkeye said.

When an explosion outside caught our attention, we moved our sights over to the source. Right where the enlisted and officers' latrines were, a crater was made and it was a pretty big one too. Although the building pieces themselves had scattered to the wind (as well as other things), nothing indicated that a human was inside when it was bombed, not even the smell of burning human flesh. Other than the loss of our only place of privacy (which could be remade), all of us had to look away with downtrodden hearts, tears in our eyes. Radar was most likely in there and we had let him down. He was dead.

Father Mulcahy broke the silence. "Dear God, we ask You to bless us and to keep us secure. Please guide us…"

"He can't be dead," I whispered, telling myself the same thing everyone else was as Father Mulcahy finished his prayer. "He can't be. He's not even nineteen. God, he's not even out of his teenager years."

Hawkeye put his arm around me. "I have a suspicion that you're right," he said to me. "Care to see if we're correct?"

"What?" I looked from Hawkeye to the compound. It was cold and forbidding out there, even without the protection covers on the tent. "Are you kidding me? It's dangerous out there."

"Didn't I tell you that Danger was my middle name?" Hawkeye asked me. "Come on. We'll be quick."

I had no choice but to accept, even though my head was spinning and my grief was getting to me badly. Going out the same way Klinger did, Hawkeye and I rushed out into the cold, hitting the ground and covering our heads once the sniper realized that we were easy to get to. Bullets missed us at the initial shooting. Once there was a short lull, Hawkeye and I got up and moved again. He directed me towards the Supply Room, again tasting mud along with me when the sniper saw us running. This repeated until we managed to get the doors opened and shut behind us. Even then, we were on the concrete ground and kissing it, crawling to a safe corner and standing up, panting.

"You ok?" Hawkeye was concerned, trying to peer into my eyes to see the truth.

I brushed him away, averting my grey eyes away from his blue ones. "Yes. Now, you said that you wanted to prove me wrong."

"I do. I think I can smell a short person here."

"You can _smell_ a short person in this room?"

"Yeah. Look around. I'm sure Radar is in here somewhere."

It was weird to think of Hawkeye talking that way, but I was going to humor him. However, before I could reply something sarcastic (it was even on the tip of my tongue), Hawkeye was off and calling for Radar like he was a lost puppy. I copied him, looking around the shelving to see if Radar was hiding amongst the supplies, even the top ones. I lost interest when I saw nothing more than the usual blankets, coats and medical supplies and felt my stomach do summersaults, sitting down in a crook to wait out the results of the search. Hawkeye wasn't giving up though. Worried as I was about him and trying to make sure his load wasn't so heavy, I wasn't about to make it worse. It was just easier to sit tight.

Soon enough, even Hawkeye was giving up the good fight. He came back to me winded once more, trying to catch his breath as he leaned up against a shelf containing some summer netting. He gave me his hand though, pulling me up and checking me up and down. He appeared sad too, like his theory was debunked and that Radar was truly in the latrine and had been killed in an explosion. As if to make another point, a bomb went off nearby, the impact rocking the building.

Hawkeye held onto me closely as I almost lost my footing. "I know I can smell Radar in here. He didn't go to the latrine like he said he would."

"I didn't know he had a particular scent to him," I replied drily, snuggling in closer.

"Yeah, like unshaven, unbathed, naïve…"

"Hawkeye, be nice."

"I am, I promise! Now, where would a farmer's runt hide under?"

"Under a blanket?"

Hawkeye smiled. "Now, you're catching on."

The pursuit began again. This time, I put my heart into it because I knew Hawkeye would have wanted it and he needed all of the encouragement he could have. While we checked high and low, someone (it could have been us or the enemy) started bombing the compound. I couldn't tell how many times they did it, if they had an idea of who we were or why this was happening, but it was getting stale very fast. It was also frightening each time too. The way my heart was beating faster and faster, my legs trembling harshly underneath me and even my hair standing on end…it was a sure sign that I wanted to run home and be with my mother. Honestly, although I disliked her for what she did, it sure beat being blown to pieces during a war that I had no business in.

Finally, Hawkeye found Radar. "Over here!" he yelled over to me when I was on the other side, where we normally had our trysts. I ran right over, tripping over everything to get there, I saw that I was perhaps right after all.

Radar was hiding an obscure corner of the room under a blanket, safe from all harm and hidden under some netting that was placed there some months ago. Although he appeared in every way to be hiding for cover, he also was sleeping and was with his teddy bear. I pictured him sucking his thumb too, but this was comical enough. I quickly exchanged a look with Hawkeye to make sure I was seeing right. He nodded his assent, kneeling before the company clerk and tucking the blanket closer to his chin. Radar just moved with the motion, smiling and mumbling something about not being late for school.

"Well, that's one mystery solved," Hawkeye said as the building shook with another explosion. "Now comes the tricky part."

"What?" This made me nervous for some reason, almost like Hawkeye was prying a secret from me and it was going to hard.

"How are we going to explain this to Henry?" Hawkeye's blue eyes twinkled in laughter.

I could not help it. I giggled, covering my mouth to ensure that nobody heard the hilarity in this serious situation. By then, the lights above us turned off and we were encased in total darkness. Thinking Radar was better off ignorant, Hawkeye reached over and pulled me to him, practically picking me up and placing me at another room junction, just for us. I touched his forehead with my fingers as he sat with me in his lap, rubbing the wrinkles away and moving closer for that kiss. Hawkeye returned it, tugging at my coat and then at his own.

Our naked bodies, just yards away from Radar, soon met like they had many times before and in many different places. With nobody thinking to look for us here in the Supply Room, there was more time to reacquaint ourselves with each other and without interruption. For about two hours, while we heard a battle raging on outside and heard that no wounded were coming in, we lived for each other. We did not know if it was going to be our last day or if this'll be the last time in which we would be together. All we knew was each other and that was enough.

Towards the afternoon, when we heard that everything was settling down and that the sniper that started it all was taken care of and now a prisoner, Hawkeye and I dressed. It had been some time since we left the Swamp from that exciting poker game and came looking for Radar. Now, free from the responsibility that should have been ours, we realized that the show was still on and that we needed to get moving if people were going to think we were still alive. Hawkeye shrugged away my efforts to help him dress and instead made sure that my bra was snapped on perfectly, commenting that it was getting tighter and that I was gaining some weight.

"Must be achieving to be your fat princess," I commented, annoyed that the wire was pinching me underneath, more so than I remembered it to. "Gotta ask Klinger where he orders."

Hawkeye chuckled. The unspoken was left between us though. Klinger went out there to get help for us, to make sure that we all were safe. Indeed, we did not know if he was alive or not, something that tugged at my heartstrings for some reason. Tears came unbidden to my eyes. I wasn't really a sentiment type of person. I mean, I admitted to Hawkeye that I lost a baby when I was sixteen and that I had shed many bitter tears about because of how horrific it all made been. _That_ had been a painful loss. Now, thinking about a crossdressing corporal being dead was more than I could bear. We had yet to lose anyone in this camp to death just yet and that was fortunate. We had been a lucky bunch.

Smiling, Hawkeye put a finger to my eyes, wiping away the trails that came. "I'm confident Klinger is ok," he reassured me, knowing what was bothering me. "He can run in heels. That's more than any man can do."

Bundling up against the cold again, I accepted the confident answer. I mean, Hawkeye was sure that Radar was alive and that had been the truth. I mean, Radar might have made the latrine an excuse because he was tired (up all night like the rest of us) and decided that it was a good idea to hide in here. He could have sensed that danger was coming and he needed someplace to sleep in without being bothered. Now, I needed to see that Klinger was the same. Hawkeye was right. The corporal can run in a pair of heels and it was a sight to see. He could take care of himself and then some.

Suddenly, the door to the Supply Room opened, allowing the cold air to enter. There were two figures in the doorway, one of them slumped and the other sneering. The former was none other than Henry. The latter was obviously Frank Burns. It was relieving to see them nonetheless, although I was in no mood for Frank's antics and his Regular Army bullshit. It was pretty clear why they were here. Frank had an issue with us all right and it might have been worse because Trapper had dosed him.

"See, Henry? Nothing but degenerates." Frank pointed at me and the askew way my coat was hanging on me. "Using this as an excuse to exercise nothing but immoral conduct. Entertaining thoughts of behavior unbecoming as officers when they aren't married. AWOL when needed for duty. Up all night drinking and gambling. I mean, what if wounded came in? They would have been caught red-handed in their act."

I was about to say something about us being on off hours, but Hawkeye pulled me back. His eyes instead rested on Henry, who was struggling to keep standing. Henry was still drunk all right and could hardly concentrate on us. He even squinted his own vision, trying to figure out where he was and who we were. Granted, it was unlike Frank to bring Henry to a place where we were spending time together, especially during the heat of the moment, but it seemed that he was trying to make a point about our so-called immoral actions. Henry was irritated with Hawkeye for being with me. This might have added fuel to the fire and all in thanks to Frank.

However, what I did not expect was Henry pulling out a bruised banana (a snack from the night before) and pointing it at us like a gun. "This is a stick-up," he announced, laughing as he did. "You're all under arrest!"

Finally, Henry fell against the doorway, laughing hysterically with Frank protesting all the way. However, even with Radar missing out on all of this commotion and not supporting Henry and getting him back to his tent (even with Frank being the way he was), it was too funny. With the banana still pointed in our general direction, Hawkeye and I exchanged a quick glance before we too burst out laughing.


	7. Why, Father? Why?

It had been many months since those innocent days where I thought that Hawkeye and I were going to have the perfect relationship and that life would go on as usual. It was many months since we had a good date together, sitting down for some Swamp gin, a bottle of wine or even a table for two at Rosie's, all without a care in the world. Now was not the time for that nor for the tears that I have been wanting to cry for some time now. Today was a solemn day, even as I shuffled my poor pregnant body to this service we called a funeral, taking place just outside the orphanage.

It was a sad occasion, I had to admit, as I stood, sat and even kneeled during the mass Father Mulcahy had organized. All of the children knew this budding woman who was not a girl, whose name was Areum. Sister Theresa normally had her in charge, being the oldest at thirteen and all, and would ask her constantly to look around to make sure that their next location was not dangerous or to take charge of the younger children. Now, normally I would protest this sort of treatment to a child (being a weepy expectant mother and all), but the good nun reassured me that Areum was up to the tasks each time, since she had been doing this since she was a toddler. Two days before, it all came crashing down and it killed her.

My mind reeled back to the day it happened, ignoring the words of comfort the good Padre was giving to one and all as we sat down one last time. Areum was sent out to check out an area we wanted to farm in. As many know here in Korea, many of these fields include landmines, which for some reason made me nervous that day. With my newly-acquired language skills, I persuaded the young woman to take me with her. Granted, it was not the smartest idea on my part since I was due within a month, but I did not feel that she should go unprotected. Klinger, who had come with Father Mulcahy that day on a supply run, agreed with me and even offered to come along with the ride.

"It's only a mile walk," I protested, putting my Army boots on in my room and getting ready to go. "You don't need to."

Klinger looked to Father Mulcahy in the other room, navigating through the many rows of beds and inspecting which ones needed to be fixed and which ones could be scrapped. Still wearing heels and a dress, the corporal looked in every way to be bucking for his Section Eight, although not in the right frame of mind (or dressed) to be working on wooden beds. I got the point immediately though, thinking that today was not the best day for Klinger to be underfoot. He should come with us.

"I feel like a walk is a good thing," Klinger replied, giving me his arm as we ambled out the door slowly, way behind Areum. "I mean, I promised Captain Pierce to be on the lookout for you, since he can't come here to see you."

"How is he doing?" I had not heard much from Hawkeye in the months away and was anxious to hear of any news. If he took to another nurse, I believe I would have gone insane with grief, but it wasn't the case from the way Klinger was looking.

"Mad, if I had to be nice," Klinger admitted casually. "He's been a basket case since you've left, Captain. He's upset that something like this happened and that he might be at fault. Captain McIntyre has been keeping him busy though, with all of those new nurses that come and go. He isn't interested in them though. He keeping thinking of you, writing about you to his dad and all. He doesn't even flirt."

"How do you know?" I asked, watching as Areum found the field in question and circled in, searching for a place to start her investigation.

"I talk to him sometimes. He also blabs at the poker games. Round and round Captain Pierce goes. Where he stops, it's all sideways and upside down."

"Great, just _great_, Klinger. So now, everyone in the camp knows everything."

"Yeah, well, everyone in the camp thinks that he's the father, but don't tell him that. Captain Pierce isn't one for commitment except for you, but if you have his child, then he might need to rethink his life."

This stopped me, Klinger along with me. "Listen, Klinger, I don't expect you to understand. I love Hawkeye with all of my heart. I really do. I just thought that I would be a season and that this relationship wasn't going to last very long. It's just…I don't know…awkward to think that the former camp skirt chaser is going to be a father, if this is the case. I mean…"

Klinger took his arm from mine and put his hand on my shoulder, pulling me into a hug I didn't expect. "Captain, I think he'll understand someday about the baby. Right now, he's worried that he's not with you and will not see you for another month, if that. That concerns him the most. He wants to support you in every way and be there afterward, for when the baby is shipped out of here. Responsibility is another story and an emotion that he'll deal with at another time. When there's closure to be had, Captain Pierce will take it and heal with it if he doesn't make a joke out of it first."

"You're very philosophical for one who is wanting to get out of here," I observed, my eyes soon wandering back to Areum and her hunt for the perfect soil to farm in.

Klinger shrugged his shoulders in the embrace. "I see what I see, Captain. When I see two people deeply in love, I'm not standing in the way of it."

"I see." Even if I didn't, I still accepted Klinger's word. We broke the hug and were off again, nearing Areum and watching her check under every rock for a booby trap.

I was anxious for some reason and life started going in slow motion. Klinger pushed me gently away from the girl so that nothing got between me and the baby and a missile caused by a possible explosion. Standing some feet away from the area, I waited patiently for Areum to finish her rounds. So far, so good. I heard her mutter in Korean about how rocky the soil was, but it would have to do for the springtime. She then talked to herself about how she was going to nurture it doing the winter months, when she had little to do inside and longed to be outdoors. Klinger just shook his head, not understanding what Areum was saying and yet thinking her as cute as a button for the work she was doing.

Suddenly though, it all same to an end. Before I knew it, Klinger and I were seeing smoke, our ears popped from the blast that just happened. I was knocked off of my feet, my back luckily the only thing hurt (other than my pride) and the baby protesting by kicking me harder than I ever felt. Klinger was also in the same state, immediately getting up and ensuring that I was ok. I waved him away, pointing to where Areum was. I couldn't get a word out. I was not able to catch my breath and was only able to make hacking noises with my mouth.

Klinger understood quickly as saw what I did. "The girl!" he shouted, rushing to where Areum was and disregarding his own safety. He snatched her up where she laid (all in heels too) and carried her back to me, coughing from the smoke as he did.

However, even I knew from my spot that there was no saving Areum and that even Hawkeye and Trapper would proclaim her for the Grim Reaper. She had no legs anymore, pieces of them scattered around the perimeter, and was bleeding profusely from the holes that showed blackened tissue, bone and muscle. One of her arms was hanging loosely from its socket, that too almost in the same states as her legs. The other arm, dirtied by soot, was swung around Klinger's neck weakly, clenching onto his pearl necklace tightly as blood rained down on the innocent white spheres.

Klinger placed Areum before me on the ground, his dark eyes begging me to do something as her grip pulled his string of pearls down into her possession and the golden clasp broke. I sat up as best as I could with so large of a baby bump, reaching for the teenager's neck with two fingers. I found no pulse, concluding that she had no chance to begin with. Death came swiftly as I shook my head sadly at Klinger, tears brimming in our eyes at the same time. The rattle lasted a few seconds before a final gasp was choked out and Areum was no longer amongst the living.

"What time is it?" I asked softly, not wanting to wake the dead from its eternal sleep.

"Not even noon, Captain," Klinger replied in the same tone, picking Areum up again and carrying her back to the orphanage. I followed him without talking, in the same state of exhaustion until we got back.

Afterward, it was a blur and nothing seemed to make sense, even the wailing of the children when we returned. I did not understand what was happening, who took Areum's body or even how Klinger was faring. The next thing I could remember was laying in my bed in my room with Klinger sleeping in a chair next to my bed, the children outside playing in quiet ways. I could tell that they too heard of Areum and did not want to disturb her soul. None of them had been present and all of them could not help but mourn about her ghost that was now running around the country without closure.

Sister Theresa and Father Mulcahy took charge though and that was enough for me. As Klinger told me hours after the incident, they too Areum's body from his hands and told the children the truth. As they started the funeral mourning (which was supposed to last until the day she was buried), the two took Areum to a private room, where she was washed and her hair (what was left of it anyway) combed. Father Mulcahy, ever full of resources and ideas, even build a coffin for the young woman and laid her in it, only showing her face to the others so that they did not get nightmares about her lack of legs and her mangle arms. Klinger even allowed the necklace to be buried with her, not wanting to take it away with blood staining it.

Today, my mind did not want to think of burying one so young and full of life even as it zoned back into Father Mulcahy's heartening words. Sister Theresa told me many things about Areum and none of them said anything about having a childhood. She was a loner, surviving homeless ever since she was three. Nobody wanted to adapt her and she was picked up by another nun to join the orphanage. She quickly became a leader and a friend to all, never claiming anyone as her own friend or family and settling arguments as the oldest of the children. She was very commanding, spirited and even mature…and she would be sorely missed by all.

Finally, Father Mulcahy reminded us all that ashes we came as and ashes we shall be buried as. Picking up some sand from the ground, he sprinkled it on the coffin, blessing it as well because of his lack of holy water. Finally, he asked the children in Korean to step forward and say their final goodbyes before Klinger dug the grave and we moved on with life without Areum. One by one, each child came and kissed the coffin. Two of them grabbed my attention, one at each of my hands, and they led me to the front where all three of us bowed and put our lips to the wood.

Klinger did the same as well, passing me on my way out. His smile was still sad, his black mourning dress perfect for this mood. He then decided to sit by me with the two children who claimed him. He then held my hand when the children filed out, his tears coming down swiftly as Father Mulcahy closed the mass and everyone started leaving. Alone with Klinger, Father Mulcahy and Sister Theresa, I went to the front once more and looked at poor Areum, her face still the only thing showing. I closed the top lid, almost again the finality of life, and looked up with tears on my face to Father Mulcahy. He came to me and wiped them away gently, soon turning his attention elsewhere and directing Klinger and Sister Theresa to the gravesite some feet away.

Father Mulcahy turned and was about to help the two move the body when I started sobbing. "Why, Father? Why?" I cried out, my face in my hands. "Why did this have to happen?"

The good Padre led me to a corner of the makeshift outdoor church we stood in, leaning against a rock to steady himself. "God is merciful and loving to all life, Jeanie," he started to explain. "He gave us all free will, to sin and worship Him as we please. Sadly though, with this power, man can decide to hate the other and wage war when they want to. During this time, we see innocent lives are lost because of this free will.

"I am sure that God grieves like we do, although he can be pretty vengeful when he wants to be. However, there is never the right answer to this. Unfortunately, this world praises violence and senseless acts of killing while those who stay behind to keep the peace are those who have no voice. Faith alone would have us following the right pathway, although that has been misplaced in many times and in many different places. Areum thought she was doing the right thing, sacrificing herself so that nobody had to be killed. She wanted to ensure the survival of the rest of the orphans and had faith in herself to do the right thing."

"Well, now she's dead," I pointed out negatively, my lips quivering and my crying quietening down. "She's dead and I couldn't save her."

Father Mulcahy put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "To bring innocent life into this world is tough. I do not know firsthand of course, but there is empathy to those who see the good in this world and can do nothing to bring it to counter the evil. I have faith in you, Jeanie, and many hopes balanced on doing the right thing for yourself and your family. You're one to rock the boat with many others who love you too, but with patience and understanding, I am sure that you can battle the brick wall before you and break free of these binds. You cannot be in chains forever."

"No, I cannot," I conceded, finding the soothing words oddly comforting. "You are right though, Father. Good cannot conquer evil alone. Action will. I promise you though, I will fight to the end. Whoever or whatever it is, I have to. I am not the only person who is at stake here. One child can define the millions who are lost in this senseless conflict, but one person can also have a voice to change the world."

Father Mulcahy grinned, removing his hand and walking away. He then instructed Klinger on the burial procedure, lifting on end of the coffin with the corporal and Sister Theresa and gently laying it to rest in the ground, more than six feet deep. I watched the three rock the young woman to her final sleep, my lips frozen in prayers that I knew were never to be answered and to never help Areum anyway. However, the Padre was right. I needed more than this to knock me down. I had to keep on battling for my own life in order for the evil to subside.

There was never any sense in war. Then again, there was never any sense in allowing an ex-CIA agent, pregnant with her first full term child, to be wallowing in misery in Korea either. My baby may be separated from me soon enough, I am sure (knowing Colonel Flagg), but I had to keep pushing for our rights. Most certainly, I had to, even if it meant breaking away from Hawkeye for good.

* * *

**A lot of the details concerning the death of a loved one are rituals followed by Koreans. Specific rites can be found online though. If you are interested, please let me know. Sorry about the sad chapter, but there are a few more. I am hoping that it will become a little happier again soon enough. :)**


	8. Too Cold

"Jeanie, are you sure you know what you're doing still?"

"Sure, Henry. I think I've done this before. Well, in nursing school, that is. Or was that a dummy baby they made me take care of?"

"I don't believe you. You're showing off your breasts in public while feeding Shannon and even making her sicker by your inexperience. Hell, you're even burping her wrong!"

"I am _not_. Well, she's high enough on my shoulders. Besides, I have a blanket over it so she doesn't spit up…I think."

"She's going to keep having gas bubbles if you keep this up."

"What? I can't help but show off. God knows she hates powdered milk like her mother and Hawkeye."

Around and around this argument went and in many different directions too. This being last night my baby was with me, I sat in the Swamp without the other surgeons, listening to Henry berate me on how I was still taking care of Shannon wrong. The camp had just come back from their move and was settling back in and there we were, fighting over something as silly as breast feeding and burping. Henry didn't like that I was feeding her whenever possible and in public view too. Of course, Frank also considered it a disgrace and was complaining loudly about it.

Honesty, I didn't know what the whole issue was to begin with. The other nurses adored the baby (even if they still did not like me), cooing over her and even providing me with all sorts of goodies to keep her safe, content and warm. Even Margaret was very kind, chipping in when she could and even offering to feed Shannon when she felt I needed a break, which was more often than I can say. After all, the forecast for wounded for the week was nothing. The fighting had finally lulled and two patients heading out soon was nothing. Giving a baby and her mother (the former who was shipping out soon anyway) Army supplies, especially to a mother who was leaking milk up the ass, always brought out the good in people.

Well, except for two people at least. Frank and Henry found it obscene and very lewd. Henry had warned me that Shannon was leaving and wanted me to have as little contact as possible because she was being sent to my mother, the first person the Army had deemed to be a good enough guardian of my beautiful daughter. In the meantime, since I was being so stubborn and wanted Shannon all to myself in the days leading up to her departure (even Hawkeye did not complain when he spent time with me), Henry needed all of the ammo he could to ensure that I was miserable in the first and only week I was going to be a mother until the end of the war perhaps. Keeping Frank as arm's length as he bitched out my nakedness being put before everyone, Henry did more than nitpick at my lack of skills as a mother. This, above everything else, was the worst of it.

Before the argument got any worse and the whole camp heard about it firsthand or in the next morning's gossip, Hawkeye and Trapper entered the Swamp. Now, this was good timing on their part, I should say. They had come back from drinking in the Officers' Club, eyed the still with their still-thirsty throats and talked of going to Rosie's in the evening. Trapper loudly mentioned in front of me about bringing the new nurses around and asked Hawkeye if he was coming along. As Henry and I quieted down and looked at Hawkeye, the chief surgeon shrugged his shoulders sheepishly and cast a quick glance in my general direction.

"Not this time, Trap," Hawkeye decided. "I think I have some unfinished business to attend to."

"Suit yourself," Trapper replied, looking at me. "Business can always wait though."

"Work before pleasure. You should know that."

"So, this is work before the pleasure?"

"Of course. Making martinis is work worthy of the sweat my socks soak up."

And around and around _that_ went. Henry and I listened enough to make our heads spin and that silenced us for the time being, even though none of us have had the last word yet. However, a clear picture was there. Even though Hawkeye had been giving me some space the last week or so (except his nightly sessions and checking on me), he was willing to not have fun while I was taking care of a baby that might be his. He even winked at me in front of Henry, like we had some little secret between us and Shannon, and told Trapper that he was inviting me to the Swamp tonight anyway.

"Are you sure about that, Pierce?" Henry asked, his eyebrows knitting in frustration.

"How bad can it be?" Hawkeye poured himself a decent-sized drink and gulped it down quickly. "I mean, Shannon is less than a week old and won't cause too much trouble."

"She doesn't sleep through the night," I warned.

"And when don't we?" Hawkeye winked once more, taking another drink. He offered Henry one too, which the CO took and downed within seconds.

Soon enough, the whole tent was drunk and silly except for maybe Hawkeye. He again twinkled his eyes at me, inching closer and closer to me and offering his arms out just for us when he was on his cot and wishing for just me. My head motioned to Shannon just as Henry and Trapper decided to leave with the nurses to Rosie's, my body language also telling Hawkeye that I couldn't just tumble into him anymore. He shook his head negatively, telling me silently that it was all right and that Shannon was not some China doll, and decided to do the work himself. He got up from his seat, sitting himself next to me on the spare cot and aligned all three of us so that we had privacy as we laid there together. He leaned us all back, managing to have my back against his front and Shannon remaining locked in my arms.

I had to admit, it was comfortable. I did not complain as Shannon fell asleep with the shining stars and we held our breath collectively and waited for her to wake up from her baby dreams and cry for food. I didn't know how much time I had (it had been maybe two hours max), but I did not think that I would have company this night that would offer me so much succor. After, all, even though I had been taking care of Shannon myself and Hawkeye always offered to cuddle most nights, we had not been this close since before I was pregnant. It made me still believe that I was not his woman for a season and that I might be more than just another nurse he had conquered.

"Is Shannon still sleeping?" Hawkeye whispered, just when the partying down the road started.

"If this ruckus keeps up, she will soon," I replied, eying Rosie's with contempt and annoyance.

"You are right. Shannon is not that bad. If she's anything like her mother, she'll get drunk and go to sleep."

"Hawkeye! That is simply not true."

"Is so. If it wasn't, why are you sleeping here often?"

"You," I answered trustfully, feeling a kiss reach me on the back of my neck.

A few minutes later, the usual grumbles began. Shannon opened her beautiful blue-grey eyes and stared at me with some expectation, most likely wanting some food the way she was licking her lips. Allowing her to be nourished and reminding me in every way of Hawkeye (since her face copied his), I managed to pull a leaking breast out of my shirt and got one end in her mouth. She sucked contently, easing back into the normal routine. By then, Hawkeye had peered over and was watching the action. He realized this past week that my breasts were not only his to play with anymore and seemed happy just observing for the time being. Putting his hands on them would remain ours for later, when the baby was no longer with us.

_When we could go back to being normal people and get back to our lives…when I am no longer acting like a mother and aching to be with my only living baby…when I can just slip into Hawkeye's arms and no longer have to be on a strict schedule or be somewhere else. Those days seem to be perfect, but right now, I am holding onto the most precious gift I've ever given myself._

"You're doing pretty well for someone who gave birth last week," Hawkeye said randomly.

I almost didn't hear him because I was so involved with feeding Shannon. "Huh?"

"Bad labor, large baby and you're up in two days. How do you do it?"

"I keep telling myself that I need to keep going."

"You've also been running a low-grade temp all week."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Shit happens?"

"It does not." Hawkeye put a hand on my forehead. "You still are warm. What's the matter?"

I didn't want to admit my pain. It wasn't just the physical that was bothering me. That I could deal with. It wasn't my first rodeo, although Shannon was the first child I had that went full term. She was a large baby, nine pounds and eleven ounces, and it was a difficult time getting her to come out since she kept bouncing up and down during my labor. It also didn't help that the enemy was shooting and bombing us, making it impossible to concentrate all the way around. No, all of that was a walk in the park.

If I had to be honest with myself, I would have to point to myself. It was the pain I felt in my heart. I could not describe it, not even to my Love who was so kind and gentle to me since I've come back to him from the orphanage. It made the hurt in my life ten times worse. It was as if someone had pulled my body apart and had taken out everything that mattered in my life and put me back together with nothing. Hell, for all I know, our little family moments might be all I have to hold onto until the end of the war. Hawkeye certainly was enjoying it, unknowingly a part of my misery, and actually smiling a grin I had not seen on him ever. Granted, I had seen something similar each time we saw each other, but this one seemed like more than love to me.

It was pure love. Hawkeye was falling in love just as I was with Shannon. That made my heart break all the more.

"I suppose I am still weak and sick at heart," I admitted, feeling like I owed Hawkeye the truth. "I'm so afraid too."

In response, Hawkeye kissed me in the same spot again. "I understand."

"Oh, Hawkeye…"

"Hush. Enjoy the moment. Who knows when we will again?"

I stifled back a cry as Shannon persisted in her feeding. When I was emptied of milk on one side and she mewed for more, I moved her to my other breast and allowed her to continue. Then, for half an hour, Hawkeye and I both laid there with her in utter rapture, thinking that a growing newborn was more entertaining than anything else. It made me believe without a doubt that he alone was Shannon's father and that he cared for her deep inside and did not care that Major Simmons had been toying with me. The way he twirled my brown hair, reaching over to pet Shannon on the head and even lifting her when she fell asleep again and tried burping her…it was too perfect. It also made me burst into noisy tears.

By then, Hawkeye had managed to get Shannon to become putty in his hands, his proud hands holding her like she was all his and nothing else mattered. She was still slumbering against his shoulder before he found a safe spot next to his cot, where I made a small bed full of cleaner clothes just as Henry came in to argue with me. Hawkeye laid her there, watching her dark eyelashes dance up and down before slowing and racing to an innocent dreamland. Sighing, he returned back to me, kneeling before the sleep space, and wiped away my tears gingerly.

"I am not explaining to Dean why you're upset," Hawkeye began softly as I ceased. "I'll leave that in your hands."

"I think he will understand," I replied, taking my sleeve and cleaning my nose with it. "It's not your fault."

"He missed his niece being born. It'll be a big deal, especially since the mother is a basket case. Of course he'll blame me."

"I am not a basket case."

"Jeanie, you just started crying for no reason."

"I have many reasons to cry."

Hawkeye stiffened his posture where he was, serious for once as his own lip quivered slightly. "So do I."

The way Hawkeye said it made me stop and think. If I believed what he was saying in-between the lines, then he was admitting that he thought Shannon to be his daughter and that he would feel like his heart was stepped on and thrown away too. Then again, he had been angry each time the subject was directly pulled up, especially when I was pregnant and so scared. It was out of his control and out of his league. What could he do with a woman he loved so much and saw her trampled upon and by the same people she used to work for?

_Nothing._ And that was all Hawkeye as ever able to do, especially in a war we had no business in. _Just plain nothing._

I willed myself to stop the tears and hardly succeeded. It was then that I looked into Hawkeye's blue eyes and saw that he was now doing the same. I sat up, throwing my arms around him and continuing my sobbing. He did the same, quieter than I had though, and we comforted each other with the fact that we were still together, but the little girl who was leaving us took all of our love with her. Right then and there, Hawkeye admitted without saying a word that he knew Shannon to be his daughter and that I was not alone in missing her, although he would forever be a bitter man in keeping his feelings inside of him. He would never say a word about the girl who he helped to bring into the world and deny her existence as much as he could.

The next morning came quickly. Hawkeye and I had spent a sleepless night together after our mutual lousy session. In the meantime, we had been taking turns holding into Shannon as she woke up every few hours and whispering little nothings in her ears, things that we could remember years from now and she would not. By the time breakfast had passed and Henry had come into the Swamp to announce that the chopper was here, Hawkeye and I were ready to let her go. Together, we gathered her things into a bag and followed Henry to the pad outside. The only thing I left behind was the blanket Hawkeye initially wrapped her in upon birth and that was because she had enough in her bag already.

Fifteen minutes of slow walking later, Hawkeye, Henry and I reached the chopper pad. There, a nurse (a lieutenant) stood ready, eager to be off. She did not seem pleased to be taking a newborn with her across the world and then dropping her off in Illinois, but she nonetheless gave us a salute and a smile. She then took Shannon from my arms too quickly for my tastes, turning around to climb back into her seat. Before she could though, Hawkeye tapped her on the shoulder, halting her and forcing her to face me. He immediately took Shannon out of her arms and returned her to me.

My heart was about to take a flying leap. I felt it beating into my throat as I allowed my face one last sniff into the dark baby hair and one last tear to wash her face, whispering to her that I would see her soon enough. I put my finger from my heart to hers, connecting us forever, and wished her all of love and hopes. Then, Henry took his turn and said his goodbyes, affectionately calling himself the grandfather Shannon would hopefully laugh at in the future. Finally, Hawkeye grabbed the baby, also saying something softly in her ears once more.

I treaded slowly towards the nurse, handing her Shannon's bag as the chopper started up. "This should have everything," I said loudly. "Cloth diapers, some powdered milk and things to keep her warm. She doesn't like the powdered things much –"

"Jeanie." Henry came up from behind me as Hawkeye reluctantly handed Shannon over. "I think she'll understand."

"Henry, no." I pushed him away and tried seeing Shannon one more time, just _one more time_. "Please, Lieutenant. Shannon needs to be –"

"Jeanie, let her go," Henry interrupted for the last time, pulling me away as the pilot ok'd the site and was prepared for takeoff. Hawkeye helped him, whirling me around so that my back was to the chopper that was now lifting itself into the air.

I could not look back. I could not afford to without breaking down again. The only thing I could do was allow Hawkeye and Henry half-carry me back to the camp and into the Swamp, where just an hour ago I was holding my Shannon and marveling at her growth. They deposited me onto an empty chair near Hawkeye's cot and murmured above my head. I could not understand their words. They buzzed around me like an annoying insect though, tempting my hand to swat one of them. However, I kept to myself, only thinking of the tiny bundle that entered my life and made it more complete and made me believe I was capable of having happiness after so many years of disappointment and sadness.

"She'll be safe to drink now," Henry observed, the first sentence I managed to comprehend sine the night before. "Frank'll also be off my rear too."

"I'd certainly hope so," Hawkeye replied, pouring himself a drink. He seemed the perfect picture of a sane man, appearing in every way to be recovered from the night before. "I think your wife would object."

"So would Leslie."

"How do we handle this?"

"I'll leave it to you. If I say something more than I did, then she'll hate me."

"I don't think Jeanie hates you, Henry. She's understandably as upset as the rest of the camp."

"Pierce, you don't get it. I've known Jeanie for almost twenty years now. Since she was a kid. And things like this…she'll be devastated…"

"No, I possibly do not understand, but I know that the system is more to blame than we are."

Silence grew between the two of them. They sipped on their drinks as I leaked through my shirt, not caring if it went to my pants too. I did not care _anymore_. My mind told me that there was no longer a baby to feed and my body told me that it was ready. Regardless, the contradictions plagued inside of me, churning coldly as it bubbled and then exploded. I stood up suddenly, my head spinning from all of the events of the past year, and felt my throat choke back vomit and my abdomen scream that it was too soon to be making moves like that. When I swallowed back the acid and straightened out my body, I noticed that the two men were staring at me, both of them not knowing what to say to me.

I surprised Henry and Hawkeye both though. I reached for a glass from Hawkeye's nightstand, blowing the dust out of it and pushing it at Hawkeye. "Fill it up. Do not stop until I am dead."

Hawkeye and Henry exchanged glances. The latter nodded to the former. Hawkeye took the glass and allowed the clear liquid to almost tip over the edges. He gave it back to me, offering me a hand to pull me up to his level since I was again too weak to stand. With Henry, we clicked our drinks together in a silent toast and drank deeply, now having a new reason to forget the war. The second round allowed me some words, although I almost choked them back as I thought back to the beautiful girl who was now no longer with me.

"To Shannon," I managed to say as we again saluted with our drinks. "To the little girl who was born here in Korea and now has a fate worse than death back home. May she face it with the same courage and strength as those before her."

"To Shannon," Hawkeye and Henry repeated, the sound of our connection echoing.

It was all we could do from now until the day we left Korea. We would drink and forget again that we were just puppets in a game we could hardly play. The cards were in our hands, but we were not the ones who controlled the dice anymore. We just had to be careful of how we conducted ourselves and how the masters were likely to send us good news. I hardly believed that there would be much anytime soon, for it was much too cold for me…_too cold_…


	9. An Ocean without Survivors

"_Radar, put a mask on!"_

"_If it's about my discharge, give it to me straight. I can take it!"_

"_I have a message. Lieutenant Colonel…Henry Blake's plane…was shot down…over the Sea of Japan. It spun in. There were no survivors."_

The words flew right through me as Trapper and I finished up another soldier. I could not believe it. I simply could not. Henry was dead. _Henry Blake was dead!_

Radar left the OR as quickly as he came in, crying and as shocked as we were at this horrible news. I continued to labor with Trapper, the only man who was almost finished with his work and could hold me up at the same time because I felt so faint. As he dropped an instrument to the floor in utter shock in the finale, he asked for another nurse to close the soldier and helped himself and then me out, seeing no new cases in sight. He could hardly stand himself though, the two of us dragging each other to the washroom to sit on a bench.

As soon as we could, the two of us pulled off our hats and masks, a slow motion that seemed to last forever. We then looked to each other and started crying hysterically, holding onto each other for dear life as we poured tears onto the other's shoulders in dismay. Hawkeye soon entered into our private circle after his patient was sent to Post-Op, his face a blank stare after he too cried over a wounded body wheeled back out. When I looked up at him, motioning with my hand for him to join us, he could not. He was unreadable, unwilling to believe that Henry Blake, the man who made a million indecisions a day and could hardly wait to go home, was gone forever.

Instead, Hawkeye sat behind Trapper and leaned on his back. We let go of each other in time, silent as we now watched everyone, from enlisted personnel and upward, walk out of the OR in utter shock, water from their eyes down their faces. When we knew that we were not being called upon for a shift, since Frank liked volunteering the nurses on Margaret's incentive, we all marched back to the Swamp, still in our bloodied gowns of white innocence. Red-eyed, we all sat down in chairs near the stove, stoking it so that a fire could burn in memory of the man we just saw this morning. God, it was not even twelve hours ago that Henry left Korea, got into that chopper and left us for good.

_Oh, my God…_

Grief rolled over us again, a larger wave this time than what we initially had wash over us. Without warning, all three of us felt the familiar hard prickling in our eyes and glanced away to hide them. Wiping them away collectively and wanting to be strong for the others, we turned back to the still. Hawkeye called for a drink. I agreed and so did Trapper, small words that we could hardly get out on tongues that did not want to be used. In seconds, three glasses again appeared and touched each other, mouths thirsty for more and more. An hour later, we were all drunk and still upset. The pain was still there in our minds. We could not get rid of it.

Hawkeye and Trapper mused quietly on their respective cots and I realized that I still had my own to go back to. However, I did not want to face the other nurses yet. I also could not stand being in my mind much longer and could not stand seeing Hawkeye and Trapper in this state. I suddenly got up from my chair, leaving the Swamp as Hawkeye abruptly protested behind me (saying something about not recovering from childbirth yet), and immediately went to the office space where Radar slept and took phone calls. He was there in his bed all right, crying just as we had, and hugging his teddy bear tightly. However, when I reached over to see if I could take some comfort from the little bugger, I noticed that he was asleep and sobbing in that state too.

Startled and feeling like I was intruding, I retreated from the space, walking right out the doors and back into the autumn chill. Wrapping my arms around my body, I made a circuit around the camp, trying to clear my drunken mind from this news. However, I could not and my thoughts circled around me like a bunch of crows waiting for their dead feast below. I could not believe it, I simply could not. Henry was dead and Lorraine was now a war widow. He didn't even make it to Japan. His plane was shot down between Korea and Japan. Other lives had been lost and not just his. And yet, here we are, hardly alive in a place where disease ran rampant and people shoot at each other like it was going out of style.

Through so little actions and words, I also saw an inconsolable camp and all of them in a worse state than I was. Nobody was up to their normal shenanigans, all in honor of the man who perished. The other nurses were heard weeping in their tents. Leslie Dish, who had graced Henry's company so often and knew their relationship to be nothing more than a fling, was wailing hysterically by the Mess Tent's entranceway. Orderlies and corpsmen like Klinger were doing the same thing I was, walking around in disbelief and in a daze and all without showing off their blubbering. Other people, most of them officers, wept without shame, encouraging one and all to join them for comfort. Others drank and toasted Henry, bodies dropping left and right from their celebrations. Even Father Mulcahy, who was hardly drunk, re-earned his old nickname of Dago Red by sat outside his tent, buzzed and possibly on sacramental wine.

In short, it was a mixed reception that greeted this death. Henry's sudden passing seemed to have affected us more than I realized, even though we all did it in different ways. I did not feel disgusted with the camp at all through this silly masquerade. Indeed, I felt their pain along with mine and hugged it closely, feeling one chapter end and another begin.

By the time I made my third way around the camp, I heard some noise near the Motor Pool. I normally did not go there, annoyed with the new guy in charge (Sergeant Rizzo) and how insufferable he was. However, it caught my interest enough for me to investigate. The spy inside of me even begged my legs to walk in that direction and for my eyes to observe carefully and without anyone seeing me. I complied with that notions, peering over some oil cans to see someone sitting in the driver's side of an empty jeep, drinking from a flask in the pale of the moonlight.

I had to rub my eyes a few times to believe who was there. It was Margaret!

She did not notice me yet. Margaret was so sucked into her drinking and her crying fit that she was not aware of what was going on around her. She also probably thought she was alone too. I crept closer, sitting next to her in the passenger seat and tempting fate by remaining there. By the time Margaret saw I was there some minutes later, she looked at me with the same red eyes I had and began her bawling anew, putting her face into my shoulder and choking back her sorrow in words I could hardly understand.

"Why did he…God, why the hell…oh, Captain, he's dead, dead, dead…" Margaret continued along the same vein for some time before she too stopped, realizing who she was unloading her frustrations on. Suddenly and just as quickly, she switched back to her tough personality.

"I'm sorry he's gone too," I said plainly, trying to be friendly and ignoring the wet fabric against my shoulder. We were united on the same front, I supposed, and thought we might as well talk this out before drinking more myself.

"Of course you would," Margaret replied quite rudely. "Of course you would! Captain Jeanette Morrison, a minion under the bumbling and idiotic Colonel Blake, would always miss the man who tutored her and made her a creature of base animal habits. I should have known."

Margaret got up from the driver's seat, the flask still in her hands, and was about to leave when I called out to her sympathetically. "And you don't miss Henry Blake, Major? The man who cared more for you than you thought?"

With the sound of my voice, Margaret turned around, her lips poised to pout a complaint and her feet ready to stomp a temper tantrum. "What the hell do you care?" she asked me tartly.

"Because we all care about each other, no matter what happens and no matter what our beliefs are," I pointed out calmly, jumping out of my seat and soon standing before Margaret. "It isn't unwomanly to cry, Margaret. I've done it a million times since I've been stationed here."

"Oh, what do you know?" Margaret screamed at me, throwing her flask at me. I caught it, giving it back to her gently.

"I know many things," I corrected, feeling the need to unburden myself on Margaret and withdrawing on the urge. I couldn't comprehend why, seeing as how she had been a pain in the ass since I first arrived here and could not empathize with what happened. "I fathom more than you'll ever know, Margaret, and most certainly more than you'll understand. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should get going. Hawkeye and Trapper will wonder where I am. I'm sure Frank is thinking the same about you."

I maneuvered around Margaret, but she stopped me, holding me hostage by the elbow. "Who cares about Frank right now? He sure doesn't love me."

"Margaret, I can see the look in his eyes. He most certainly loves you."

"_Lusts_, you mean. Kind of like Pierce looks at you."

"Hawkeye does not lust after me. If you actually cared to get to know us, you'd know that we actually have a solid relationship. Granted, it's not the most forward and it needs some work, but at least I've learned that I can love again and that there are people who genuinely are sincere about their feelings. I don't think you've learned that, Margaret, and you never will, even if the concept bit you on the nose."

"You're a nasty, degenerate bitch."

"I've heard nicer out of my mother, but I'll take that as a compliment from you."

As she released me, Margaret screamed loudly, a wordless howl that drew some attention from outside our inner ring, especially when she started kicking cans around. When some people came over to check it out, I waved them away. They were as drunk as Margaret was and possibly in a poorer state than she was to boot. I wasn't going to give her up to the gossipmongers of this camp yet. I wasn't that cruel. Oh, no, not on this night, the day when Henry Blake last walked amongst the living…

When everybody had decided to leave and without a good story, I stopped Margaret in her mad motions, gripping her arm in a vicelike grasp as the last can spilled used motor oil. "Margaret, let's get you back to your tent."

The head nurse tried fighting me and continued her endless yell, but was too uncoordinated to push me away and soon tired of her own voice. It was easy to manage her away from the Motor Pool and back to her tent some yards away. I had to drag her just as Trapper had to do with me just hours before, her whole weight supported by mine, a body that had birthed a large child not even a month before and hardly recovered. Passing Frank on the way there with hardly any kind words from him, I managed to get Margaret back to her quarters. While the new CO questioned me all the way and insulted the way I was handling things, I ignored his demands for answers and slammed the door behind us, locking it for good measure.

I practically threw Margaret on her cot. She then started crying again, throwing her flask in a corner and sobbing like a child deprived of her favorite toy. I didn't know what to do and could not find a good example to take advice from. I never dealt with Margaret like this and hardly knew the first thing about her anguish. Taking a chance when recalling Lorraine comforting me, I sat next to her and put my arms around her, for a second time allowing her the opportunity to make my shoulders wet.

Again, the head nurse uttered words I could not string together, even if I was drunk. After ten minutes of this, she started talking in sentences that I could converse with. She rambled on and on about being a horrible person to Henry and how she regretted it now that he was dead and unable to see his family ever again. The generals meant nothing to her, she then admitted, and she felt that she needed power in order to be a better person. She needed a man to control her life and reporting an unmilitary man gained her popularity with them.

"And Frank?" I had to know.

"What about him?" Margaret slurred. "He's just a needle-nosed lipless wonder."

This was more than I could bear. "Margaret, go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

Margaret muttered something about spying, Colonel Flagg and how un-American I was, but I did not take that to heart since she knew nothing of that situation. Instead, I eased her off of me and organized her body in a sleeping form on the cot. I stood up much too quickly and felt my body protest, even after weeks of no baby and no feeding. However, even that I disregarded, finding a blanket on the floor and tucking Margaret in with it. Her eyelashes fluttered a few times and she complained about this treatment, but was soon snoring and drooling down her chin.

I wasn't staying long after that. I escaped, keeping the door unlocked in case Frank wanted to enter, and soon bumped into another drunken figure. I shoved that one away, hearing a groan as he hit a tent door. I was soon tripping over more and more of these people, only managing to get back to the Swamp. Frank was not there thankfully. Trapper was sleeping on the floor before his bed and Hawkeye was wide awake and reading a leader from his Dad. The dimming light above him illuminating his face made me love him all the more, although I could hardly make myself move in his general direction. After Shannon's departure, I could not even strip my clothes for him for fear that we might conceive another child and that too would be taken away from me…from _us_.

"Jeanie," Hawkeye greeted thickly when he noticed me. "You all right?"

I smiled, my eyes telling me I was feeling otherwise. "I guess so. It'll pass. You?"

"The same, I guess. Captain Courageous over there might not be."

"I can tell."

"Come sit with me. _Please_."

It was a request I could not deny. Gingerly, I made my way over dirty magazines, empty alcohol bottles and even some clothes to get to Hawkeye. He sat up to make room for me, holding me tightly as he hid the letter under his pillow. I returned the embrace, the waves tumbling over us as a new set of tears ran down our faces. Another hour passed before we were able to control our horrible emotions. By then though, Hawkeye had released me, allowing my hands to linger from his shoulders to his hands, and he held onto the cooling digits with vigor.

"I think we need to talk," Hawkeye began, something that made my stomach drop.

"What about?" I asked, again with the smile to hide my sadness.

Hawkeye tried avoiding the subject and even was uncomfortable as what appeared to be an unpleasant task. "I think we advertised too much."

"What?" I laughed. "Are you serious, Hawkeye? The whole camp knows that we have a very amorous relationship and that resulted in a baby?"

When I saw how serious Hawkeye was, I stopped and tried to ask a million questions, unable to get the words out. There was a reason why he faced me like this. My throat then started closing off again and I couldn't breathe. I thought that he might have another nurse he wanted to date. That theory was debunked quickly. Hawkeye not tagging behind Trapper anymore was a sign of things between us. Staying with me and Shannon was another.

"Jeanie, I cannot tell you how much I love you," Hawkeye explained. "I think that we need to be careful. Frank in charge of this rodeo isn't the greatest. He's a bucking bronco, sweetie."

I nodded in understanding. "Can we hold off Supply Room visits too? Just for another month?"

"You're supposed to be off of sex for two months anyway."

"Why, aren't we mighty deprived?"

"I can manage. How about you?"

This threw me off. Hawkeye meant it in so many ways and in different contexts too. Of course, I've managed without a man's touch for some time and can do it again. Even after my stepfather debased me in my teenaged years, I did not want another man to touch me again. After Falk proved me wrong in thinking all men were scum, I embraced a side of me I didn't realize existed. Now, in Korea and far away from West Germany, the two worlds collided and were slowly draining me. It was worse than Henry dying, although that had too many implications as well. It was a fate that I dreamt was not possible and could hardly touch me.

It was that of a broken woman with nowhere in her life to turn to anymore.

I gripped Hawkeye's hands. "You know I can always manage. If I can…well, if I can survive what just happened this past year, I can do anything."

Hawkeye kissed me on the forehead. "That's my girl."

And we stayed that way for some time before Hawkeye went up to get a drink for us both, the soft moonlight highlighting his black hair that was slowly turning salted. We drank for an hour, our reddening eyes turning much different shades before they decided to close for the rest of the night. By then, dawn was some minutes away and we hardly had a wink between us. Stretching out on his cot, Hawkeye beckoned to me. I obeyed him as only a slave to love could, curling there with him on the bottom and me on the top. We faced each other, pelting our lips with kisses before dreams called us away, the bright autumn sunshine peeking overhead.

It was a new day and another to face. Later on, we would learn more. News would filter back to us and we would learn more about the end of Henry Blake. For now though, it was time to look into our deepest nightmares and allow heartache to wash over our shores again. The waves would continue, on and always, until the end of our days, when we hardly remembered what it was all about.

Indeed, there were no survivors in this game we called war. We were just one of many who would fall to its ocean of blood.


	10. Good Riddance

It was only a handful of days later when Hawkeye was allowed to go to Tokyo and without me since I wasn't considered loyal enough to leave the area yet. The worst of it is that Frank and Margaret heard of some medical conference and thought Hawkeye the best to go since he would benefit the best from it. Not to mention, with the camp still saddened over Henry's passing, they thought him too nuts from this harsh pain and decided too that going to Japan was a vacation worth having since it would mean a Swampman out of their hair for a while.

Trapper was not pleased, I'll tell you what, and he was in worse shape than I was at the prospect of being without our favorite surgeon making a charge at the institution. He moaned about not going to Tokyo for two days after the announcement as Hawkeye packed his things and whistled in glee, clamoring about three glorious days without being in Korea. I even was very green with envy as Hawkeye chattered on and on about how much of a good time he was going to have and to sleep through the conferences too. He slapped his knees in laughter, giggled about the time to be had and even taunted Trapper with pictures of warm waters, war-free streets and even no night shifts.

Dean was even kicking around and was not too pleased with Hawkeye's antics, teasing us like he was and running his mouth, something I confessed to him while we drank at Rosie's before the Marines fought and closed the place down for a while. Dean's unit had also returned the day after Henry was announced dead and they all had been drinking like fish ever since, mourning his loss too. None of them liked Frank being in charge and decided to run to Dean for their orders since he outranked Frank by name alone, even though old Ferret Face had been a major for a few months longer, and that rubbed everyone wrong. Regardless, my brother had been kicking around and watched Hawkeye from afar. Just an hour before Hawkeye was due to depart from this hellhole, Dean came to the Swamp. Trapper and I had been playing a game of checkers (a là shot glass style) and had been drinking shots each time one of us reached the end of the board. Hawkeye, in his infinite wisdom, continued his bragging as Dean walked in.

"Heard you going to Tokyo since I've been here, Hawkeye," Dean said, something that slowed Hawkeye down a little with his packing frenzy. "It's been a nonstop announcement ever since. Care to tell us your secrets that kept us ugly for two days now?"

"What secrets, Dean?" Hawkeye managed to push some civilian clothes into his briefcase and clapped his hands like a child. "That I'm heading to paradise in Asia and you're not?"

"I'm heading for more training end of this year, so I might drop by Tokyo anyway," Dean managed to admit. "Being an officer and out there fighting has its perks, especially with the Morrison name."

"Aww, Dean, the career Army man. I thought you'd never confess that you're part of the problem."

"The Army is many things, Hawkeye, but the only problems with it are its ridiculousness. Being in the Army saved me and Jeanie, if you can believe that, and it made us see the world when we could have been trapped in Bloomington and misery. Now, quit your shit before someone slugs you. Not too many people are pleased to see you go. Your screaming about it makes it ten times worse."

"I'm not screaming. I'm excited."

"Same thing," Trapper chimed in. He jumped two of my pieces and reached the end of the board again, taking a shot of still gin.

"Hawkeye, do us all a favor and take your arrogant attitude elsewhere," Dean warned. "If you won't, I'd suggest taking up boxing with Father Mulcahy. I've got men who are sick, tired and even fried. I won't be able to control them if you continue down this road."

"I won't be able to save you," I added, kinging myself and taking another shot. I was buzzed, but I wasn't on the point of drunk yet, which wasn't where I wanted to be…yet.

"Ok, ok." Hawkeye put up his hands in defeat. "How about, what can I get all of you from Tokyo?"

"Real gin," I replied immediately.

"A geisha wrapped and packaged," Trapper added.

"Some food would be fine, if you can manage," Dean instantly chimed in, handing Hawkeye a rather large wad of money from his pockets. "My men have C rations and Mess Tent leftovers. It does them wonders if real bread and butter, chocolate or even milk was brought over."

"I'll do what I can," Hawkeye allowed gently as he pocketed the cash, picking up the last of his bags and leaving. Before he did though, he came over to me and Trapper, kissing both of us.

Trapper wiped the smooch away, feeling disgusted as it was on the lips too. "Really, Hawkeye? We'll see you in three days. I don't need any pretty farewells. Just leave it for the missus here."

I took mine with better grace, although I was still feeling rather upset that I was being left behind. "Goodbye, Love. Safe trip there and back."

Hawkeye said nothing more, waving at Dean (even Hawkeye knew better than to cross my older brother) and flagging down the nearest jeep heading out of the camp. He jumped right into the passenger's seat, flinging all of his things into the back seat with abandon, and yelled for his anxious driver to move forward to the land of plenty. As all three of us in the Swamp rolled our eyes collectively, we watched Hawkeye as he hooted down the road, reaching over the driver to honk the horn as he disappeared into the horizon.

"And good riddance for now," Trapper uttered, claiming another one of my pieces as his.

"He'll return and be as miserable as ever," I remarked confidentially.

Dean took a seat by us and made a move for me, which made me give him an evil eye. "Don't be bitter, you two," he said, jumping some of Trapper's pieces and taking a few shots himself. "There's a reason why Hawkeye was chosen above the others. Besides, Jeanie, you're right. He'll come back and be just as despondent as he was before."

A few hours went by and the three of us took turns playing checkers and drinking. By the time Radar entered the Swamp, a paper shaking in his hands, the three of us were slushed and quite wanting more. While we were not on duty tonight, it still annoyed us to see the short company clerk standing before us. He was afraid, I could tell, and he did not want to disturb us.

"Can I bother you Sirs for a minute?" Radar asked, unsure of himself.

"Radar, make yourself at home," Dean declared, taking a drink from the still and seating himself on Hawkeye's cot.

"Not for very long, I can't, Major," Radar admitted, clearing his throat to tell us that he had something imperative to say. "Captain McIntyre, Sir, I have some important news."

Trapper shook his head. "Can't it wait, Radar? I'm running a good streak here with Jeanie, ten jumps and a checkmate to her eight and two."

"Sir, you really need to hear this."

"Radar, whatever it is, stuff it in Frank's bag and punch it."

"Captain McIntyre, Sir, I can't. It involves you going home."

"What?" Trapper looked up at Radar with his drunken beady eyes. "I didn't hear you."

"It's true, Sir," Radar insisted, handing Trapper the paper in his hands. "You're going home. Your points came in. The Army is discharging you."

"Oh, my God," I muttered, turning to the company clerk. "This isn't a joke this time, is it, Radar? I'll make you two foot one if it is."

"Who cares, Jeanie?" Dean sprinted up and took the orders out of Trapper's hands in excitement, hardly reading it. "You know what this means, Trapper?"

"What?" Trapper asked, the only word he managed to say other than his words of disbelief.

"Celebration time." Dean picked up a nearby martini glass and handed it to Trapper, full to the brim. "Bottoms up!"

After that, I could not remember much of what happened. In that short period of only a few hours, we forgot where Hawkeye went to and why and only partied for this discharge. Trapper, Dean and I were so drunk on pure boredom. Without any wounded coming in either, we had all of the world spread out before us and we didn't care. Myself? Well, I personally was wild with abandonment, unwilling to commit myself to being responsible. Me, act like an adult when my whole world had been shattered and then taken away from me in a helicopter ride from hell? I think not.

A few details did not escape me though. Throughout the whole ordeal, events whirled around me that I had to keep in memory. The first was Dean leaving. He promised to be back in a few days, called to Seoul for some reason or another. The second was Trapper and his antics. He managed to get so excited about being shipped home to Boston that the second morning made him forget about his clothes…and he ran through the Mess Tent naked and screaming madly about leaving. The last bothered me the most, more so than ever before. As I sat around the Officers' Club with Klinger and Father Mulcahy as company night after night, I heard the news from Radar, the worst of its kind.

Trapper and his family now had custody of my daughter, my beautiful baby Shannon.

It was a blow to me. It was not fair either. In my mind, Shannon had been relatively safe with my mother. She had written to me about how Clarence was hardly at home and not paying attention anyway and how difficult it was to take care of the baby even though it was slowly becoming enjoyable. She was just getting used to it. Mom was saying that Shannon was sleeping through the night and was starting to eat five square meals a day before bedtime. Now, with the Army so uppity about Major Simmons and my stepfather, they decided that Trapper was the next best thing until they determined (well, Colonel Flagg) who Shannon's father is since nobody has stepped forward.

Louise McIntyre may have been resentful of the responsibility, but Trapper was taking it seriously. I didn't know when he heard the news though, try as he must to be obnoxious before his departure. I would know of it soon enough. He approached me the night before his exodus from Korea and the day Hawkeye was supposed to return. I had been drinking in the Officers' Club once more, listening to Father Mulcahy's piano playing and Klinger regaling escape stories. Bored, I tried seeing the bottle of a glass of gin, choosing not to listen to either of them tell me more happy news. I was content in my wretchedness, thinking of more ways to escape it as much as Klinger wanted out of the Army.

Trapper soon entered, seeing me by the counter. Immediately, he sat next to me, ordering a martini and another glass of gin for me. I didn't want to talk to him nor did I want his company, lucky sap that he was to go home. I had been too upset over what I felt was uncontrollable. I could not provide for my daughter and could not say where she's supposed to stay. I was a helpless as she was when she was born and hardly a mother, far away as I was.

"What's the matter, Jeanie?" Trapper inquired, seeing my sour face. "Cat got your tongue?"

Klinger served us the drinks. "Cut her off, Captain," he warned within my earshot, albeit it was said softly. "Take her home to the Swamp. She needs sleep."

"How many, Klinger?"

"She's had ten glasses, Sir. This makes eleven."

"Let it go, lady. I think she'll live down the embarrassment."

I said nothing. I stared at the empty glass before me and the new one set in front of me. I waited a few minutes before and drank again, wanting to throw up. I was so sick. I didn't want to be bothered by someone like Trapper. Let him go home in happiness or sadness…or whatever it was he was feeling. The way he was looking at me was serious. When I searched his face for some answers, I knew. I just _knew_.

_I don't know why, but I'm feeling so sad.  
I long to try something I never had.  
Never had no kissing…  
Oh, what I've been missing!  
Lover man, oh, where can you be?_

_The night is cold and I'm so alone.  
I'd give my soul just to call you my own.  
Got a moon above me,  
But no one to love me…  
Lover man, oh, where can you be?_

"Come on, Jeanie, dance with me," Trapper begged. "Please. For old time's sake. For a man about to go home and be without the company of a nurse."

"Not a chance," I managed to utter, starting in on my eleventh glass of gin. I was annoyed at being disturbed…as if I wasn't already.

"Can we talk? Dance a little and say goodbye?"

"If you want to, I guess."

"That's not an answer."

"When has this world given me answers that made sense anyway?"

Trapper searched into my grey eyes. "You're drunk."

"And I'm Bessie Smith too," I retorted, slamming my drink down. "Trapper, what the hell do you want from me?"

With a few heads turning to our argument, all interested in what was going to happen next, Trapper waved it all away. He managed to get me on my feet and into a corner table and away from the action. Bringing our drinks with him, he seated me and took the other chair. He tipped back in it, sipping his martini and staring at me like I was a new wonder of the ancient world. I was fascinating to him surely, but not _that_ interesting to be used like a museum piece. I wanted nothing more to do with Trapper and felt so ashamed that he was stuck with my folly.

_I've heard it said that the thrill  
Of romance can be like a heavenly dream.  
I go to bed with a prayer,  
That you'll make love to me.  
Strange as it seems…_

_Someday we'll meet  
And you'll dry all my tears.  
Then whisper sweet little things in my ear.  
Hugging and a kissing…  
Oh, what we've been missing…  
Lover man, oh, where can you be?_

"I wanted many things from you, Jeanie, but you've proven me wrong time and again that I really needed them," Trapper began, taking my hands into his as we had forsaken the alcohol for the time being. "Dance with me. We need to talk."

I declined again. My eyes could not focus. Billie Holiday just drifted in and out of my ears, all the while reminding me that I too had a lover that was coming back tomorrow and not seeing his friend off to Kimpo. It made my heart break into a million more pieces. As if seeing Shannon off wasn't enough, I now had to watch with my watery eyes as Trapper left us too. It was too painful and worse yet, he had to rub it in and have me make a fool out of myself and fumble on shaky feet. I had to listen for another minutes before I consented and allowed Trapper his final shuffle into the Korean night.

It was slow at first, I had to admit. Trapper was very good at keeping me steady and not tripping over tables and chairs. However, after a moment of silence, he tried working his mouth to speak. It seemed like he was trying out some conversations in his mind and thinking them through before talking. I was a sensible person and didn't care much for subtle hints, but I was impatient to hear Trapper. He wanted this dance. By God, he was getting it and a piece of my mind too!

"Trapper –" I started this time, my lips slurring and moving in motions I didn't know existed.

"Hush, babe," Trapper interrupted. "Now, let me talk. I'm trying to keep sober enough. I've drank enough to keep my wife away from me for three night at least. Now, I have to get this out before I go home. It's this. I don't need you to worry. Shannon will be well taken care of. I will pick her up in Bloomington and carry her safety back to Boston. Louise will not complain and she'll help out gladly. I _promise_ you that. Do you understand?"

I nodded, close to tears now. "Trapper, I'm so sorry."

"Me too," he replied, kissing me on the lips so hard that I thought I couldn't breathe. I returned it, happy that he went no further and broke no code. Breaking away just as quickly, he added, "You need to take care of yourself too, Jeanie. You cannot grieve in a place like this forever. Don't forget. Just write to your little heart's content and I'll listen as I've always done."

_I've heard it said that the thrill  
Of romance can be like a heavenly dream.  
I go to bed with a prayer,  
That you'll make love to me.  
Strange as it seems…_

_Someday we'll meet,  
And you'll dry all my tears  
Then whisper sweet little things in my ear  
Hugging and a kissing…  
Oh, what we've been missing.  
Lover man, oh, where can you be?_

Just as suddenly as it happened, Trapper departed as soon as the song ended, leaving me without a partner and without another prayer. Standing there awkwardly in the middle of the Officers' Club, I thought myself so silly and decided that heading back to my table was the best idea. I managed that, downing my last gin and thinking again about the God who never answered pleas from those who never believed. Klinger came by again and garbled about how he and Father Mulcahy were cutting me off. I waved him away too, trying to find Trapper and not seeing him. He had left without looking back and without me saying much in return.

I remembered crying and being lifted out of my seat some time later. I don't recall much after that except waking up some time later. As the early morning sunshine filtered through the tent, it blinded me before my eyes forced themselves opened. I sat up and decided that the world was worth seeing, stretching out my limbs. I realized that I was in the Swamp and quite alone, sitting up in what was Trapper's cot. Hawkeye was not back yet and Trapper had already taken his things and ran out the door. Reveille was outside and Frank and Margaret were taking roll call with faithful Radar behind the pair.

_How convenient of me to miss it._

I got up, finding some clothes to put on, no matter who had them last or how dirty they were. As I did, I heard something creaky pull into camp. I forgot about covering myself nicely and looked out in my shorts and shirt, shading my vision for the wheeled ride that hobbled into camp and paid his driver for a job well done. An argument ensued and the passenger that insulted the majors now stood hungover and too tired for words.

Hawkeye was back…and nobody told him about Trapper yet.

* * *

**Lyrics are from Billie Holiday's "Lover Man", even though it had been sung before and by many other great artist of the era. :)**


	11. Sewing New Relationships

Hawkeye and BJ had returned from Kimpo and had escaped punishment from the ever-annoying Frank and Margaret for the time being. While Frank was not pleased about our chief surgeon running off as he did (and escaping from charges all the same), he was happy to see BJ alive and…well, he was not so glad because he was _drunk_ and fell over laughing upon greeting. Radar had dragged the two of them plus their gear back into the Swamp and settled them down on their respective cots after the review, but it would be some time before we managed to get something that resembled words out of the two captains. I hoped to be the first to hear it, sitting in the Swamp as I did and patiently waiting for the two friends (obvious that they bonded) to sober up and wake up.

It didn't take too long. The first one up (and when it was night, mind you) was BJ Hunnicutt, surprise of surprises. Blonde, young and fresh out of the States, he seemed exhausted from his journey, not yet experiencing the horror and fright that was this place. I noted that he observed me sew some old socks back together and seemed interested in the action. After all, the Swamp was the surgeons' tent and no females were supposed to be residing in there, especially those who liked sticking around to mend the clothes.

"Ahh, the prince awakens," I finally said after a few minutes, putting down my stitching on Hawkeye's nightstand next to me. "At least no princess had to kiss you."

"Ahh, a sarcastic nurse," BJ replied in turn, rubbing his eyes and then his chin. "What do they call you?"

"Jeanie. Captain Jeanie Morrison. I'm twin to the idiot who usually comes down the road to watch the camp."

"Captain BJ Hunnicutt. Happen to know one can take a shower and wash out a drinking binge?"

"Take a left out of here, straight ahead. Nurses are on the right, doctors on the left. You can't miss it."

"Does that include Ferret Face?"

I had to laugh. "Yeah. Good luck with him though. I'm sure he's on patrol and making the locals nervous."

"Is he really that bad?"

"You have to get to know him to realize that. When you do, you're going to want to shot yourself."

BJ laughed. "'When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it – always.'"

"Mahatma Gandhi. I am impressed."

"Somebody has to be other than my wife."

_Wife._ This surgeon had a better half at home also. It made me wonder if he too would be like Trapper and cheat, but I dismissed the thought and just smiled.

"Look, Captain –" BJ began uncertainly.

I waved my hand. "Jeanie, please. I don't pull rank here unless I have to and I hardly do it anyway. Most of the nurses never listen to me and the enlisted men think I'm a joke."

"Ok, Jeanie," BJ said, grinning grimly. "Got any words of wisdom for the new guy?"

"Latrines are near the showers," I directed, seeing the usual song and dance. "Stick to the one on the right for officers. There's four of them, two for enlisted and two for officers."

"Why the right one?"

"The left one has left splinters and it's always a pain to pull them off. It's also not pretty."

Again, BJ laughed, getting up slowly before testing his feet and adjusting his hangover sway. "Gotcha."

It was my turn for surveillance. I watched the new surgeon as he left the Swamp with his sponge and some soap, following the directions I gave him to head to the latrines and the showers. I did not bother my eyes adjusting to the darkness outside. BJ seemed a sensible man, eager to get on with it and make the best of this situation. He did not need my help any further. Indeed, he was intelligent, fun and even sarcastic. Even though my heart was breaking with Trapper's departure that morning, it mended a little for the man who had just arrived and was possibly missing his wife back home.

Twenty minutes passed. I didn't see BJ come back and considered it a loss for now, thinking that he was either enjoying the time alone or somehow got stopped by someone and was chatting. At that point, after three days of nothing except drinking and partying, I was ready to call it a night. I wasn't happy to be going back to the nurses' tent, but it was my home away from home and my things were there. Sighing, I got up. Before I could walk out though, I was pushed back down in my chair. I saw the arm, recognized the touch and smiled.

"Hello, Love," I greeted Hawkeye, kissing his forehead.

Hawkeye muttered something akin to the same thing and pulled my collar down to kiss me on the lips. I accepted it, my heart fluttering and my abdomen screaming at me to stop moving in different directions. I ignored all of that, breathing in every drink Hawkeye had since before he arrived back in Korea and then some. When he allowed me to seat myself again, he pulled himself up (and together again, if one must know) and started glancing around the Swamp in sadness. He noticed that BJ was not around. I felt his rejection from where I was, the utter despair in his eyes surveying the room in wretchedness.

"He's off to the showers," I clarified to Hawkeye. "He'll be back."

Hawkeye nodded, laying back down and keeping me in his vision. In every way, he was betrayed and I could not blame him. Three days in Tokyo and he was too busy to answer the phone, excited as he was to be freed from his chains. Radar even admitted to trying to get in contact with him, although I doubted that Trapper would have been able to say a word to Hawkeye over the phone regardless. Just a kiss from Radar to Hawkeye was never a goodbye and that felt my Love so wary of his remaining friends. A stab in the back was always painful and that sort of thing never went away, even after time had healed the cut and make it anew.

In the meantime, I felt the need to hide my own hurt. I immediately reached for my sewing and started it up again. I finished the socks and tossed them at Hawkeye. He took that as a hint and put them on, giving me a shirt that had a tear in it too. I shot him an evil eye and quietly picked up the needle to close the gap in the shoulder. As I worked, Hawkeye put a hand on my arm gently.

"Talk to me about it," Hawkeye demanded.

I put down the shirt in my lap. "What about?"

"Trapper. How did he take it?"

"I'm not regaling you with drunken tales. The days are done and we're here, Hawkeye. BJ seems like a nice guy. I'm sure the two of you will make better memories than you and Trapper."

"That's not the point. He left without warning."

"He had plenty of warning. You just chose not to answer the hotel phone."

Hawkeye stopped himself. A light bulb went off in his head and he left that idea alone, choosing not to voice it. Frowning, he took his hand away and instead squeezed his fingers where hurt me the most. I jumped in alarm, dropping everything and standing up in utter dismay. I had to stay my hand and prevent myself from striking back, it stung that badly. I had to remind myself that it was just out of concern that Hawkeye did it, even if his grin was goofy and even in a know-it-all manner confirmed his suspicions.

"I knew it," Hawkeye declared, hopping off of his cot and dancing around the Swamp like it was a celebration. "I knew it!"

"What?" I yelled back, something that stopped Hawkeye. "What do you know _now_?"

"You haven't recovered from delivering Shannon, have you?" Hawkeye asked urgently, seeking an answer from me and one I didn't want to give. He charged me and took my hands, an action that made me madder.

"No," I admitted, dropping his hands and allowing my back and ass to grace the chair once more. Resuming my activity and sticking to it petulantly, I added softly, "What difference does it make, Hawkeye? It'll go away someday."

This made Hawkeye quiet. Outside of this awkward circle, we heard the autumn crickets sing their last song of the season and some footsteps from the other camp personnel, both of them desperate to let themselves be known. While I thought the people were in too big of a hurry for something, I did not think we would be called to action anytime soon. Hawkeye was tired of talking to me anyway, deciding that going outside was a better idea. He came back almost as soon as he left, something that startled me more than his grope ever did.

"Wounded are coming," Hawkeye announced. "We need to scrub. Think you can guide BJ?"

"Not a problem," I immediately replied through my doubts, getting up and tossing the incomplete shirt to one side. From there, I followed Hawkeye to the incoming ambulances. As soon as I saw BJ running from the showers, I ran to meet him and direct him to Pre-Op.

BJ was confused, shrugging his shoulders as he tailed me to the building. I didn't think Hawkeye thought him ready for triage and might have delegated him to one side to get the hang of the place first. Assigning me to him seemed a silly idea too since I was just a nurse and hardly in a position of power. Margaret would have been a better choice in my honest opinion, but I took it as it was. I directed the new guy in town over to the sinks on the other side and told him to wash up. Those outside would handle who was the priority before handing them to him.

"When it'll be my turn to take a punch at the bully?" BJ joked, doing as I said at the same time I was getting him a gown, cap and mask.

"In due time, I guess," I answered automatically, assisting with the dressing. "Just go with the flow and it'll be ok. Don't think about it too much either."

It was more sound advice. BJ nodded, going through the usual motions and soon found himself in surgery. Again, Hawkeye had me team up with him, declaring to BJ that I was a terrific nurse and that he was in good company. While Margaret snorted in disgust, Frank demanded quiet in the OR and he received it, all of us tired of him screaming constantly. The hours then ticked by slowly. After twelve had passed and Dean and his men returned to be guards and orderlies, BJ asked me if there were more cases. He just started on an eighteen-year-old with enough shrapnel in his chest to start a junkyard (as Hawkeye would have put it) when I checked in with Klinger. No more wounded.

"What a relief," BJ announced out loud.

"Can we contain the partying?" Frank was not in a mood for talk still. "There are some people who are still working."

"Well, I do declare, Scarlett, that my hands are too delicate for crop harvesting," Hawkeye chimed in with a southern drawl. Margaret shot him a look, scary enough to make me crawl into a hole, but that did not stop the chief surgeon from talking. He carried on until Frank issued a direct order and that was that.

BJ had decided that it was worth the risk to talk though. "Retractor, Jeanie," he ordered. I handed him the instrument as he continued. "Care to tell me about Hawkeye and the baby?"

"Hawkeye and what baby?" I didn't know what BJ was talking about at first, although my mind slapped me and told me he somehow found out about Shannon.

Kindly, BJ chuckled. "You're a good liar, Jeanie, but not good enough."

I felt offended, my face turning red. "BJ, really, I –"

"Suction," BJ interrupted. I sucked up away what from obstructing his view before he dared to converse again. "Listen, I don't know how long you've been here, maybe as long as Hawkeye and Radar here. However, if my eyes and ears deceive me, you're a mother and you have no baby with you."

By then, everyone could tell that I was embarrassed about something. I hid it behind my wall of professionalism before speaking. "How could you tell?"

"The way you walk in that painful manner, Hawkeye pouncing on you like he did earlier and the size of your hips. Big kid?"

"Yeah. Nine pounds, eleven ounces."

BJ whistled. "Ouch."

"She was born here."

Hearing that pronouncement made BJ almost drop the last instrument I handed him, he was that surprised. He recovered in a second, asking me for more suction. We worked in silence for a few minutes more, seeing Frank on the prowl and not too pleased with the noise levels in the OR, and we waited until he and Margaret had cleared out before picking up where we left off. By then, BJ was almost done and was taking it slowly so that he could hear all about my dirty little secrets.

"She was _born_ here?" BJ was incredulous.

"A long story," I revealed. "Let's just say I got into some trouble before being shipped here and it's bitten me in the ass. More details will be broadcasted later when we're both too drunk to care."

BJ nodded. "And your daughter?"

"Currently being watched over by the surgeon you replaced. Trapper McIntyre is supposed to pick her up from my mother's and took her to Boston. I'll hear more details when he gets home."

"Why take her away from your family?"

"Another long story, but I'll give you the Reader's Digest version. The Army actually has a zero tolerance for sexual assault and harassment, if you can believe that. My stepfather is a person of notoriety in my hometown…to everyone except my mother maybe. They heard the stories and had my former CO find another place for her."

"What's her name?"

"Shannon."

"God, I wish I could reach into my back pocket right now. I can show you pictures of my daughter and wife."

"How old is your daughter?"

"Erin is three months old. I miss her and Peg so much."

It was the longing in BJ's voice that caught me. He may have found a very good friend in Hawkeye, but in me he was finding someone he could share stories with, especially about our girls. Dealing with Frank made him think that the acting CO was nothing more than a fink who would do anything for glory, even if he had three daughters of his own. Not too many others in the camp are married and have children except for some of the enlisted personnel and even then, they don't like sharing with their sweethearts their letters and pictures from home.

"I miss Shannon too," I admitted, a lump caught in my throat. I swallowed it. "At least Hawkeye is here with me."

"Father of the baby?"

"I think so."

"You _think_ so?"

"There's another tale in-between all of this nonsense, something I'll tell you on a different night. Now, 3-0 silk?"

"That would help."

From there, BJ and I completed the last soldier and he was off to Post-Op. Exhausted, we hightailed on over to the sinks, washing up before finding a bench to sit on and relax. While too many people milled in and out as we leaned our heads back, there was enough noise to cover up the finale of our conversation. I didn't really want to admit too much to BJ. After all, I don't really talk much on a first date (even with Hawkeye), but his gentle and friendly manner made me want to trust him since he did not break the usual confidentiality all doctors had. He seemed to be a good guy and someone who we can easily get along with and that was good enough for me.

"BJ, I don't expect you to understand much for a while, but know that you've caught a pretty heavy tide," I finally said. "A lot of things happened in a course of a month, enough that would make all of us question why we're here. Since September, I've given birth to a beautiful baby girl, lost her within a week, watched our former CO walk into the sunset and never return home and then waved goodbye to a good friend of mine. Not too many people can go through that and not declare themselves insane. But then again, I've had a foolish life, enough that would make anyone run into an asylum and never come out."

"I've heard bits and pieces of the news." BJ shook his head and sat up again, moving my head so that I could look into his eyes. "The best part of me is that I don't judge. Well, except for Frank, but that's a different story. I don't generally make a decision on how I feel about others until I see what makes them tick. You? You're a wonder. It makes me marvel why Hawkeye would pick up a broken woman like then. Then again, he is the type of man who would rescue a damsel in distress and tell the world about it."

"What are you talking about?" Now, it was my turn to be confused.

"Other than dysentery, bad food, fleas, camping out and meatball surgery, Hawkeye talked about you," BJ said. "Hawkeye Pierce if a pretty selfish man from what I've gathered. Take him out of the equation, he talks about you. For a while, I thought he was referring to some magazine he was reading, but Radar told me that Hawkeye's mirage was actually a nurse and that she was you. Jeanie, you're a lucky woman if you can believe that."

"How so?"

"You turned a man who was always concerned about himself into one who actually cared for another human being. Maybe two, if what you're saying is right."

"BJ, Hawkeye and I are a couple, yes, but I don't think we've had the opportunity to take a plunge just yet. I don't think he's on the wagon to get married or anything of the sort. I most certainly am not ready."

"If a man loves someone enough, he'll understand and go through hell to make his partner happy. You both seemed to have sacrificed enough for the other, mostly keeping secrets. Maybe it's time you both stop hiding in the closet and make a move."

I couldn't help but beam in pride, thinking BJ right. "We'll see. For now, I see some gin in my future. Care to join me?"

"Gin? In this place? How?" BJ got up and stretched.

I copied BJ, ensuring that my limbs would work again as I rubbed them. "Come on, I'll show you. It's amazing you what you can do on an American military base."


	12. Changing of the Seasons

_October 25, 1951  
Boston_

_Dearest Jeanie,_

_I am home at long last. I could write to you about how glad I am to be here, which I am, but I also have to be honest as well. You've been up front with me, so I'll tell you everything too._

_After over a year of being away, I'd thought I would get busy and start life again. I guess I was wrong. Everything seems so different here in Boston. It's a true New England autumn now and I should be racing with the girls to the park, but I'm not. I should be back at work and greeting my patients without bombs going off outside, but I'm not. Instead, I'm stuck in this stinking house with my wife and watching Kathy and Becky run to the bus stop while Louise rocks Shannon to sleep. What a typical morning it seems. Everything is so wrong with it._

_Still a sweet baby, your Shannon. Despite Louise complaining about her and thinking that she was my daughter from Korea (something I debunked quickly), she loves that little girl. Everyday for the past three days, when Kathy and Becky are not around to poke at her and ask about an adaption, Louise will take Shannon to the rocking chair and sing her a lullaby so that she could sleep. Shannon isn't a fussy girl, but she seems to know what's happening and is taking it hard, crying when she hears something negative about you. She doesn't like being fed from a bottle and always grabs at Louise. It seems like there's something missing in her life and that's you._

_I know how hard it is for you over there. It's pretty hard for me too. We both aren't adjusting like we should and that's a problem we both need to face. Stay strong, Jeanie. I know the storm is hardly over. We'll all get through it. I just know it._

Tears sprung in my eyes unexpectedly as I read the beginning of my first letter from Trapper in my quarters with the other nurses. It seemed that his hand was pretty shaky like he was drinking and recovering from the bout as he wrote. Nonetheless, the words were deep and they cut me to the core. I could not help but stare at the top paragraphs, hardly scanning the last of the two-page missive with pictures, and wipe away from water from my eyes that threatened to betray my inner turmoil. Besides, I didn't want the nurses to know anyway, horrible bitches that they are.

I folded the letter back into its envelope and put it in my back pocket, hoping to catch some laughs in the Swamp. Departing from the gossip and makeup sessions (most of the talk involving Margaret and Frank), I decided that drinking was the best activity of the day. Hiding Trapper's words from the world from my mind, I left, taking a few turns and landing back in my favorite location of the camp. Apparently, I had come at a good time. BJ and Hawkeye were building what appeared to be a new bar and were expanding their supplies around the tent. I stood inside and in the closed doorway for a few minutes, listen to the two chat.

"What do we call it?" BJ asked Hawkeye when they finished with the rough details of the new counter.

"It's in the corner," Hawkeye observed. "Let's call it 'The Corner Bar'."

"It's been used," BJ pointed out.

"I got it!" Hawkeye declared. "'Frank's Bed', now doing business as 'Joe's Bar and Grill'."

I had to laugh, stifling it when I saw an MP walk behind me, one of Dean's men mocking him from behind. The new bar seemed a great idea even though it was using what used to be Frank's space. I remained quiet nonetheless, waiting for BJ to continue the banter. He did notice me (Hawkeye had not yet), winking at me before turning back to Hawkeye.

"If my wife calls, I'm not here," Hawkeye mentioned. He then grew quiet. "Henry would have loved this."

This was something that made me sad thinking about it, even if it was only a couple of weeks after the fact. Hawkeye was right. Henry would have _adored_ the new bar and would have broken it in the first chance he got, regardless of how much he drank already. I didn't want to think of him on the bottom of the Sea of Japan, his body decomposing in his watery grave. I blinked back the tears when BJ picked up on the conversation.

"Fair man with a bottle, you say?"

"Henry? He could have been a competition drinker. The man was born with a spare tank. I really miss him."

"How about 'The Henry Blake Memorial Bar'?"

"I'll buy that. Let's break it in. I'll throw out the first drunk. With any luck, it'll be me."

"Or I'll be the one throwing you out," I said, gaining a smile from Hawkeye when his eyes raked me up and down. He immediately came right over, smelling my neck. He would have started using his vampire techniques had BJ not cleared his throat behind him.

"Care for a drink, Jeanie?" BJ offered a glass from behind him.

"Of course," I replied, taking the glass. I waited until Hawkeye got the alcohol and poured. However, we didn't even get to round two when Radar knocked quite nervously, I must add.

"Sirs?" Radar entered and stared at all three of us in equal measure.

"Yes, young man?" BJ gestured to the new bar. "How many in your party?"

"Huh?" Radar was unsure of how to proceed.

"As you can see, we're jammed," Hawkeye clarified, much to my and BJ's hilarity. "If you give us your name, we'll have you paged here at the bar."

"The couple at table twenty-seven are leaving," BJ announced.

Hawkeye then waved over an imaginary person. "Busboy, set up table twenty-seven for the young man in the green tuxedo. We usually hold it for Caesar Romero, but he sprained his moustache."

"Sirs, with your permission, would you stop horsing around please?" Radar was annoyed, seeing this was yet another episode in Hawkeye's silliness. BJ felt at ease joining in.

"You hate the table," BJ declared.

"You hate the busboy," I added.

"The table and busboy are fine," Radar immediately said afterward.

"Can I fix you a Shirley Temple or a Roy Rogers?" BJ inquired, trying to get Radar's attention towards the counter.

"Is it true about those two?" Hawkeye chimed in.

"And I thought it was Clark Gable," I moaned, tipping over my glass slightly and wetting Radar's shirt.

"Come you, would yous?" Radar was now getting mad, wiping his shirt with his spare hand. He had come in here with a purpose in mind and we were delaying his mission.

"Shh!" We all muttered to each other, trying to silence the company so Radar could speak. We even put our glasses down. "Shh!"

Radar leaned in to make sure nobody else heard what he had to say. "We're getting a new commanding officer."

"Frank's out?!" Hawkeye yelled in joy.

"Shh!" Radar warned. This time, he was serious.

"Yay! Do you know what this means, Radar?" I was ecstatic, unwilling to believe our luck. Frank was no longer going to be the CO!

"Great!" BJ chimed in after me.

"Great?" Hawkeye questioned, taking the orders from Radar. "I've been sticking pins in my Frank Burns doll. What's this now? Colonel Sherman Potter, surgeon, medical…USA!"

"Regular Army?" BJ inquired.

"Career man," Radar confirmed.

"Trouble?" BJ was confused.

"A lot," I said. I was terrified at the prospect, knowing what a career man was and how well they did in the field. "You wouldn't believe it."

"Yeah." Hawkeye felt the same way I did. "God, an Army doctor!"

"He'll have people bleeding by the numbers then," BJ observed.

Hawkeye was on the same page. "He's gotta be a loser. Otherwise, why would they dump him in a MASH?"

"A career man." BJ had no other words for it.

"Yeah, and that's worse than Frank, who's neither one nor the other."

"How'd it take it?"

"Frank?"

Radar seemed terrified when BJ and Hawkeye started up their questioning again. "Are you kidding? My palms are sweating off! I'm afraid to tell him."

"You better show him the orders, Radar." For once, BJ was serious. However, even he could not tell what was worse – a career man or Frank.

"He'll hit me," Radar protested.

"Hit you?" I was shocked, pretending to be faint. "Not Frank!"

"Come on," Hawkeye cut in. He couldn't believe Radar this time.

I wanted to laugh at Radar's reaction, but kept serious as he recounted his woes. "He's been murder on me. Making me shave. He makes me bathe!"

Hawkeye clucked his tongue in dismay. "The man has no respect for crud. Let's go with him, you two."

"A pleasure," BJ said with genuine warmth. It was enough to make Radar a little less tense.

"Mine too," I added. I wanted nothing more than to see Frank's face, if I had to be honest with myself. "I would love to come along. I don't want to see Frank be a bully."

"Would you really?" Radar beamed. "That' terrific!"

As we departed from the Swamp, Hawkeye yelled out, "Hold table twenty-seven!"

From there, we marched to the Mess Tent, the three of us behind Radar. Entering, the four of us stopped in the entranceway, eying Frank and Margaret in line to get their food for lunch. Frank was obviously molesting Igor (as if nobody else does) and complaining about the sloppiness of food compartments again. In an instant, I remembered Frank doing that when Henry was still in command, citing regulations about how this and that food was to go to standardized places on the tray. It got to the point where Frank demanded all food to stand at attention when he entered the Mess Tent, something even Henry had to gripe about.

It didn't take long before Frank noticed us though. "Where's the mail?" he demanded from Radar, a tray of food in his hands as he got out of the line with Margaret. "It got here ten minutes ago!"

"I've got it, Sir," Radar admitted, holding it out like he was showing that he was innocent of all charges.

"And much more," I muttered. Hawkeye nudged me in the side with his elbow to keep me quiet just as BJ shot me a dirty look.

"Is there anything for me?" Frank immediately inquired.

"Umm, nothing from Mrs. Burns, Sir," Radar replied, a pretty good slap in the face to Margaret.

As Margaret rolled her eyes, Frank's got a little narrower. "I don't care what I didn't get."

"No, Sir."

What did I get?"

"Well, here's a card from your veterinarian."

"Time for your rabies shot," Hawkeye jumped in.

"Wisenheimer," Frank said to Hawkeye. Turning to BJ, he added, "Shouldn't you be eating or something?"

"We had a cupcake on the train," BJ answered for us all.

"I've warned you, Hunnicutt," Frank started, his forehead turning into a thoughtless wrinkled mess and all of it due his upcoming lecture. "Don't let this man and his paramour corrupt you."

I had to put my hands to my sides, my fists curled into a ball and just for Frank too. At that point, he had not insulted me and Hawkeye like that in ages. Now, it was payback time and the stockade seemed peaceful enough after a month of hell I wanted to forget. I went to try and swing, but Hawkeye stopped me before someone saw what I wanted to do. His face portrayed one of worry and told me in so many wordless gestures that we would get back at Frank soon enough. The new orders would be revenge enough for now.

"What else is there, Corporal?" Frank brought us back to reality and the moment we've all been waiting for. He did not notice what I almost did though. I was _hoping_.

"Your service station back home is having a free buffet to open their new lube rack," Radar announced, holding out on the orders and stalling for time. "They're going to have punch, balloons and Greasy the Clown."

"Oh, what's this?" Finally, Frank saw the papers and tried taking them from Radar. "It looks official."

Radar fumbled, but he made it work. With three captains behind him, bravery took over and the words were said. "Umm, oh, you're being replaced, Sir."

"What?" Margaret was visibly stunned.

"Smelling salts for two, doctor," Hawkeye warned BJ.

"And more if this keeps up." I felt that it was needed. Margaret and Frank looked awful!

"This is outrageous!" Margaret yelled, reading the papers as they left Radar's hands. "It's completely unfair!"

"Oh, no, Major," Frank interjected calmly, more so than I've ever seen him and a change from the moment before. "This is not an unusual occurrence at all. This is the way the Army is run. We're all merely cogs in a giant military medical machine. Each cog occasionally has to lose a tooth on the gear of life."

"Boy, and I was expecting worse," I muttered to BJ and Hawkeye.

"Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'd best prepare for the change of command," Frank finished without hearing my comment, dropping off his tray with food still pled on it. He was shortly followed behind by Margaret, who did the same.

Radar, BJ, Hawkeye and I moved aside so that the duo could leave. From there, our eyes and ears followed the majors as they went towards the direction of Margaret's tent. Their very soft conversation seemed mature and very friendly. None of it talked of the unfairness of what happened supposedly. Indeed, even I was surprised that Frank took it so well. However, my legs told me to check it out. With Hawkeye, BJ and Radar behind me, we inched out of the Mess Tent and stayed in a corner, out of sight and mind. We then cranked our ears to listen to Margaret and Frank chat more.

"You took that _so_ well," Margaret gushed to Frank. "I'm very proud of you."

"Que sera, sera," Frank said indifferently, following Margaret to her tent.

"It was a blow below the belt."

"We've both had our share of those."

It was then that the two entered Margaret's tent and the door closed behind them. Hawkeye winked at me, his face all aglow and excited about the gossip we're sure to have. Taking it as a hint to go spy, I grabbed Radar's sleeve and off we went. Soon situating ourselves behind Margret's tent, we found a place where the light would not hit us and reveal shadows. Radar, out of the goodness of his heart, pulled out a recording device and turned it on.

_Damn, I need to get myself one of those and not just for spying too._

It was the perfect blackmail, reminding me of the days of old when he and I used to listen to Henry in his office. It was childish if I thought back to it (even getting Kellye in the ring was pushing it), but it also unified us and got Hawkeye and BJ what they wanted. Having a chance to discredit Frank in his weakest moments and use it against him? _That_ I can do, even if it reminded me of the days in West Germany, when I thought I was so innocent and actually was not, dirty hands and all. A horrible time just like this one and something I was not likely to forget either.

Our efforts were rewarded soon enough. It soon sounded like Frank sat down someplace and soon slammed his helmet down. "No, no, no, no! It's not fair! It's not fair! It's my MASH!"

"I know, darling," Margaret cooed, possibly sitting next to Frank.

"It's mine!" Frank continued. "It's mine! Mine, mine, mine!"

"There, there, shh…"

"I already wrote Mommy."

"Your mother will understand."

"I mean my wife."

There seemed to be a moment of silence. I glanced at Radar to see if the microphone was still working (it was) and then back to the tent. Suddenly, there was a stomping like a boot hitting the ground and then a few things being thrown around. It was a temper tantrum of a different sort. We just didn't know who and what, but whatever it was, someone was angry and it wasn't just Frank. That left Margaret and the chief nurse being pissed off was not a good thing. I've personal been on the other end of her boot and it's never fun.

"Buzz off!" Margaret screamed, storming out of her tent and slamming the door behind her.

By then, Radar and I thought the job finished, but Frank had the last words before we left with our booty. "You'll all be sorry when I'm gone. You'll see!"

* * *

**A lot of the material came from the season 4 episode "Change of Command". I also manipulated a lot of the conversations and gave lines to someone who did not say them on the show. For that, I am sorry. Creative license is much too fun.**


	13. And the Drama Continues

Even after we received another episode of the soap opera between Frank and Margaret (their argument after the first had been acted out behind Post-Op), the day was not over yet and our minds had not thought up the perfect plan for payback. After Radar and I left and watched the next scene with Hawkeye and BJ, I went back to the Swamp, knowing that the action would resume there. From my seat next to Hawkeye's cot, I watched with a returning BJ and Hawkeye as Frank's things were brought back into the Swamp and then had to listen to the two read through Frank's "private papers" after he entered. By then, I was reading the rest of Trapper's letter and trying my hardest not to weep.

From the beginning, it was hard and I had to reread it in order to connect back with the man who left us suddenly and was drinking right in the tent not even a week before. It was the worst that Trapper felt so cornered at home, even though he was adjusting and seeing his family for the first time since he left for Korea. He was pessimistic and feeling like he brought the war home with him. He could not go back to what he used to be, although he found Shannon to be a balm and a reminder of better things to come because of her sweet innocence. That had been a unifying factor in his marriage to Louise other than Becky and Kathy. However, sometimes Louise was all over my baby and other times she's accusing Trapper that Shannon is his child from Korea. It depended on the day and her mood.

"Oh, gee, it's a shame about the bar," I heard Radar say from nearby. "I was only there once, but I really loved it."

"I'm pretty sad about it too," I muttered, still deep in my letter.

Afterward, Radar moved aside as Frank's cot was adjusted and put back in its place just so. Our former CO, long finished with his temper tantrums and possibly thinking of ways to make up with Margaret again, followed in its wake. He was not pleased (his usual mood) and seemed to be particular about where his things went, especially his mother's picture. He brought in some of his own items himself too, soon ordering Radar and Klinger to get the last of his things from the CO tent and to prepare for the new unit leader coming in.

"Another week in command and I'd have had you out of that dress," Frank said, stopping Klinger and holding him by the arm with a firm grip.

"I'm not that easy!" Klinger declared, walking out with the company clerk.

"Welcome home, Frank," Hawkeye then greeted. "We kept your lice right where you left 'em."

"The rats even stayed in your corner to remember you by," I added.

"Hardy har-har." Frank turned around to reorganize his things. That seemed the perfect opportunity for BJ and Hawkeye to harass him.

At that point, after hearing about glued bedpans and draining the tuna fish oil every thousand miles, I was done. I read through Trapper's letter a few times over, turning over the pictures of Shannon in my hands, and put them back in an envelope quickly. My mind went in a few different directions and none of them stayed on track. It thought back to nights curling up with my baby, Hawkeye at my side and all of us being a circle I yearned for. It drew images of a home life I wished I had and with control given only to me. It excluded everyone who did not belong and consisted of myself, Shannon and Hawkeye only.

_Some fantasy._

As the three surgeons bantered, I watched the life in camp outside the confines of the Swamp. Dean's men were mingling with our camp personnel, a lot of them pestering the nurses for a favor and maybe some pants down. Dean himself was near the Officers' Club, talking with three men from his unit and instructing them. It seemed like he was preparing them for the change in command too. After all, they too had to be on show for Colonel Potter's entry, just as we had to. To protect a mobile unit was something new for the Army and having the new CO around might get them to stay or be sent back to the front lines. Opinions have a lot of weight and Frank's word hardly cemented anything anyway.

Afterward, Dean came into the Swamp. He found a chair in the mess around us and pulled it towards me, facing me. He noticed that I was out of sorts and took Trapper's letter out of my hands, putting it on Hawkeye's cot and out of the chief surgeon's sight. He saw where it came from, clicked his tongue in a disapproving way (much like Mom, I have to add) and put the offending item under a magazine. Dean also had to turn around and tell the three Swampmen to can it. He had a headache and wanted a little quiet so that he could talk with me.

"Take two aspirin and run down to Rosie's," BJ suggested, finding a drink with Hawkeye and seating themselves near the still. "I hear they're serving crabs at five."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm in no mood for a service girl tonight. I like it when they keep the love bug to themselves." Dean waved his hand in dismissal. He turned back to me. "Hey, little sister, you better get yourself ready. I heard the CO will be here any minute now."

"Why bother?" I was in no mood for presentations, especially Army ones. At the moment, I just didn't give to shits. "It'll be the same old spew. Nothing is going to change."

"We'll see, Jeanie. You never know."

"Dean, you didn't –"

"Stop, Jeanie, before you insert your foot into your mouth. You don't know the new CO. We'll see how it goes."

I did not want to argue anymore. I just nodded, allowing Dean to leave me alone in some peace. He went to the still, pouring himself a drink and talking to Hawkeye and BJ about whatever had happened in-between the times they missed him (well, more Hawkeye than BJ since Dean just met our new surgeon). Whatever it was, I did not want to hear it. I grabbed the letter from Trapper again and reread the last paragraph, tears brimming around my grey eyes.

_Jeanie, you need to be tough, just as I need to be. This will pass. Someday, you'll come home just as I did and then you'll see Shannon and want to start life all over again. You'll fall in love with her all over again and she'll remember your tender care and love. It is not fair what happened to you. It was a huge mistake on all parts. However, I know you can make it. You're stronger than you think and have more power inside of you than you realize. Even I can see that._

_Keep the faith, Jeanie. I know you can do it. Rise above this mistake and live._

_Love, Trapper_

Above my head, I heard the squeak of an announcement from the PA. "Sorry, camp," Radar said after the high pitched noise. "Attention! By command of the new commanding officer, all officers report to the command officer's office, Sirs."

"Are you serious?" I asked, putting my letter away, back into the pocket I had it in before. The envelope crinkled and bent, crying out its abuse.

"We best get going," BJ suggested, seeing the line of nurses run to the office.

"I guess so," Hawkeye added, downing the last of his drink.

"I wouldn't mind staying for a minute," Dean intoned like a prayer, staring at the chests of the nurses running by. "I think I like the view."

I go up immediately and slapped the back of Dean's head to get him out of his imaginary world. "Get out of the gutter, Dean. Up and at it!"

Dean nodded. Putting his drink down, he followed BJ and Hawkeye out the door, but my brother also dropped something out of his hands. I didn't think he noticed he had it in the first place because he had been so involved with the girls. I picked it up, dropping it back on the floor instantly. It was a nudist magazine, something left behind by Trapper and kept by Hawkeye. It was offending and revolting, especially if we were going to try and move into the next phase of our relationship (something we needed to talk about and mutually agreed upon), and it needed to be stopped. I noted to myself that I would have my revenge somehow and it would be before this war ended. Smiling regardless, I turned right around and soon was part of the exodus, heading into the unknown.

The nursing staff went in first, the last being myself and Margaret as part of the final assembly. Behind us was Father Mulcahy, Dean, Hawkeye and BJ. Although we noticed that Frank was not amongst us (he seemed to have vanished some time ago and without anyone saying anything), it was still a relief to be on an informal display. Colonel Potter, when he received us six officers, did not seem too unkindly, smiling bravely at us and holding our service records on his desk. He did not demand a salute and only nodded, motioning for us to stay put.

I gulped audibly, swallowing the thick lump there. _This is going to be interesting._

The new CO took all of the folders into his hands and started scanning them briefly first, making a good conversation starter. In the few minutes we had in silence, waiting for the colonel to say something. In the meantime, I studied him. Colonel Potter was an older man, maybe in his early sixties and seeing his second or third war, and didn't seem so formal with Army regulations. He seemed scared as well, in a new place with a bunch of new people, and wanted to know us as much as we wanted to about him. It was a fine start, I supposed, and I hardly felt patient until he called Father Mulcahy, the first in line.

"Father Mulcahy," Colonel Potter named out. When the Padre dangled his cross in a gesture that requested some respect, the colonel nodded. "Oh, yes. Of course."

As Colonel Potter continued flipping through Father Mulcahy's file, I saw a little bit of a smile from him, which seemed to show that perhaps we had a worthy successor for Henry, even if he was sorely missed. It was a good one and it brooded well for our local chaplain. Even I grinned a little, feeling a little more relaxed in the colonel's presence. I didn't want to reveal myself too broadly. I wanted to make a great first impression, although my tongue was telling me otherwise. Words threatened to slip out and I had to bite down to keep silent.

After a few wordless noises, Colonel Potter closed the folder. "You're clean."

"Thank God, Sir," the Padre replied.

"Catholic?" the colonel asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"Can you do a Methodist thing for me on Sunday?"

"I handle all denominations, Colonel."

"Any other Methodists in the outfit?"

"Two or three."

"Good. I hate to sing alone."

That last comment almost got me in a sling. I had so many jokes about church services and signing alone, but again had to put my teeth down together, grinding them silently. I was an atheist at heart and believed in one's own morals, although some circumstances earlier are making me believe in other things and having me question my own conscience. Regardless, I waited patiently as the colonel called Margaret.

"Sir!" Margaret said proudly, as GI as you can get.

"Chief nurse." Colonel Potter again eyed her records with the same attention as the last.

"Yes, Sir."

"Ten years, spotless record."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Major Frank Burns."

"Just friends, Sir."

That one comment alone nearly had me, Hawkeye, Dean and BJ in tears. The four of us looked at each other in utter amazement and again had to hold ourselves together for this inspection. The jokes could come later, I was sure of it, and we were going to be more amused by the anger that would follow in its wake. I was also certain that Hawkeye had something up his sleeve the way he was looking at Margaret. I searched his face for the answers and found none. I would soon find out, I reasoned with myself. It won't be long now…

Margaret soon corrected herself. "I mean, he's not here, Sir. He's indisposed."

Colonel Potter took this explanation lightly, again nodding. "Yes, of course. Major Dean Morrison."

"Yes, Sir." Dean saluted politely, but it was not as bright and cheery as Margaret's had been.

A rustle of pages went a little longer than expected from the new CO, but his interested stayed the same. "Eleven years and a very unique record, Major. You were in the last war, came back from Germany. Took on a German battalion yourself with all of your company dead."

"Yes, Sir." Dean seemed stoic about it. It was something he never told me, although I knew him to be a war hero that did not talk much of his deeds.

"Several commendations, promotions, medals and leader of a company that watched this unit."

"Yes, Sir."

"But it says here you also have been drunk on duty several times and have punched your commanding officer in the face before you were shipped to Germany."

"He put his hands on me, Sir. It was unfortunate that I was rash and stupid."

"You've also been caught drunk on duty here, Major. Says here you've purposely told your men and the enlisted men here to make sure the scrub room was soaped up enough for Major Burns to fall in."

Dean shrugged his shoulders, caught like the child with a hand in the cookie jar. "What can I say, Colonel? The man threatened me with his gun. I had to ensure my safety and that of my men and the people here."

"Uh-huh." The colonel did not look convinced, soon turning his blue eyes on me. "Captain Jeanette Morrison."

"Yes, Sir." I remained calm, executing my own greeting, fingers brushing my forehead lightly before standing in lax attention.

"Same amount of time in, been over all the place." Colonel Potter turned my record over, biting his lips over the black marks in there and the cut-out pages that Flagg guaranteed to be there. "Drunk and disorderly several times, good nurse altogether. Unmarried, one child now in the States."

"Yes, Sir." My heart twisted when thinking about Trapper's letter and Shannon far away from me. I kept the tears at bay though, relieved when they stayed where they belonged.

"Says here also that you've been a menace to the other nurses."

"Harassment comes at a price, Sir. They went through my footlocker, tarnished my things and destroyed my personal property for no reason. I retaliated by switching out their makeup for Mess Tent food and exchanging their date candles for prank ones."

"I take it you didn't take it to the head nurse?"

"With all due respect, I did, Sir. Major Houlihan refused to deal with it for reasons known to her alone."

With that statement, Margaret blanched pale. This reflected badly on her. If something like this was not dealt with, especially with one holding a perfect record, then there was something hidden inside of her heart and one that did not like dealing with certain people (also known as favoritism). I had to admit, Margaret was a nuisance when Henry was CO here. She didn't like me much to begin with and said that the others would get used to me. There was no help from her.

_They obviously did not get used to me, Margaret. Most are still jealous over me and Hawkeye._

"We'll talk later then," Colonel Potter decided, something that made Margaret very relieved. He grabbed another file instead. "Captain Pierce."

"Yo!" Hawkeye called out.

Colonel Potter looked up and raised an eyebrow, a little perturbed, if I had to name the reaction. "Keep your yo's to yourself." After a few clucking noises from his tongue, he then named BJ.

"Yes, Sir." BJ did not bother with a salute and only smiled, waving a little.

"You two were reprimanded by Major Burns for settling fire to the latrine," Colonel Potter recounted.

Right then and there, I almost died in a fit of giggling. I nearly had forgotten about the time those two Swampmen had decided to have a cookout in the officers' latrine and this being a few days ago. Radar had set it up of course. He ordered the supplies and BJ and Hawkeye called for a line for hot dogs as soon as they had the first load cooked. I almost made it, but managed to only watch the action as Frank blew his whistle (literally). Frank also wouldn't let me stand with BJ and Hawkeye as a character witness. However, from what I've heard from Radar, it was just another farce that blew out of proportion.

"We were having a weenie roast," BJ admitted.

"In the latrine?" Colonel Potter was incredulous.

"We're not allowed to cook in our tents, Sir."

"Also, Pierce, it says here you had a live chicken flown here by helicopter, claiming it was a patient."

"That was a rare bird, Colonel," Hawkeye said, his eye twinkling with mischief as he recalled the incident from only last week. "It could tap dance."

"And a year ago, the Tokyo provost marshal claims you stole a steam shovel."

"I couldn't get a cab."

"I gather you drink."

"Only to excess."

It was then that Colonel Potter got serious, standing up to face us with his hands behind his back. "Colorful officers, I must say. That is one thing I do not need. I would greatly appreciate if, for the next eighteen months or so, you keep your noses clean. Dismissed!"

With hardly any salutes except from Father Mulcahy and Margaret (even Dean and I didn't bother), our group left the office. It wasn't as bad as we thought it was going to be. We were going to disperse and possibly go drinking, but Margaret stopped BJ and Hawkeye. Dean and I were going to go ahead had we not noticed her serious look. In lieu of running back to the still, we decided to listen, soon learning that Frank ran away from home when he didn't get the command of this post. It was hilarious of course and it took all of Margaret's strength to keep Hawkeye from the PA to announce the most childish act since Frank ripped Klinger's bra straps some weeks before.

"Oh, let me handle this," Dean said, rolling his eyes when the struggle turned into Margaret reaching over to bite Hawkeye's fingers to avoid hands pulling hers away. "There's only one way to take care of a bitch."

Taking very few strides, my brother pushed himself right into the mess, something that shocked Hawkeye and BJ the most. He then took Margaret into his arms and kissed her right on the lips, pressing them apart with his tongue in the most disgusting and funny move. The action itself would have given Hawkeye an opportunity to give the camp some news of Frank and made a target on Frank's back. On the contrary, the spontaneous coupling only gave us some hilarity. Dean, giving the great Hot Lips Houlihan some mouth to mouth? It was a sight to see!

And that was the first time we gave Colonel Potter something to yell at us about, something that gave him a snicker as well (I heard it and so did Hawkeye, Dean and BJ). We were ordered to scam within seconds, since he had a lot of unpacking to do and had a headache from listening to us argue about Frank and the PA system. I can say that it was worth it though (even giving Colonel Potter a headache to remember), especially when Margaret slapped Dean across the face and stormed out, although I was certain my brother gave her a run for her money.

_What a perfect day._ And it still wasn't the ending. _I wonder what will happen next?_

* * *

**Again, most of the conversations came from "Change of Command". I believed I watched the episode close enough and got everyone's lines where they needed to be. Of course, all OC conversations had to be added in. Wouldn't be the same. ;)**


	14. Plans and Promises

It had taken a while for Colonel Potter to settle in, but when he did, we all decided that it was time to calm down. To be honest, he assessed all correctly and made friends with the whole camp, even endearing himself to Margaret, and he seemed more effective than Henry ever was as a CO. I was amazed by what got done and how many people the colonel knew, counting on my fingers and toes (and even martini glasses and dust bunnies) the generals he went to war with and even treated. However, my heart still yearned for Henry and ached even more for Lorraine. All of those years seemed gone and wasted now that Henry Blake was dead.

Time passed slowly and the weather soon turned colder and our next holiday season passed into a new year that demanded new variations too. The major changes (literally, haha) were between Margaret and Frank and then myself and Hawkeye, if that is to be believed (and all in thanks to BJ and Mrs. Burns). It seemed a lot easier to just look at others before my own relationship, so I believe I should start there and then continue onto my own saga that I didn't believe would unfold in the way that it did.

A couple of weeks after Colonel Potter showed up and toughened us up, a letter came in the mail for Frank from home. From Radar, we heard that it was from Mrs. Burns, ugly and mousy little Louise, who heard from a returning solider the continuing relationship of Frank and Margaret. While her mother urged her to get a divorce from Ferret Face himself, _he_ managed to get a personal call to Indiana (just as Colonel Potter was waiting for news about his new grandchild) and talked with his wife. After soothing the scorned woman (a savage beast, from what I've heard), Frank had to contend with Margaret, who he called several names while she listened in the other room and in rage too.

Being named as war horse and an Army mule was insulting. Even to me it was wounding, especially in light of Margaret preparing for their night together with their package from "Fatigues from Hollywood". From there on out, Margaret and Frank started to cool down their once ardent couplings. Frank was desperate as always, trying to get into Margaret's tight green pants, but the head nurse was always on the ball, playing games with him and shoving him out the door. She either slighted him with her voice or smoothed over the bumpy road, but never again was their passion the same. As we all predicted, someone was going to sweep Margaret off of her feet and it wasn't going to be Frank.

Enough of that though. It was boring enough to watch _that_ drama unfold and then fold over again. What bothered me the most was a new assignment for me and it wasn't just out the usual heading over to another M*A*S*H unit for a day and exchanging ideas and people. No, not this time. It was a unique Jeanie Morrison trip and one that even made Sidney Freedman – friend and foe to everyone and all at once too – raise an eyebrow and ask for a house call himself.

From those higher up than me, I was ordered to the front lines. Why? Sidney was resituated there. He usually was sent into foxholes and facilities at or near the front lines in order to help the solider patch up their mental wounds and then get them back to work. Now, the Army thought it a grand idea to get him up close and personal and have him report back on the results. The kicker of it is that they also chose little old me to accompany him and make my own medical observations. Due to my history and the good record I've had (officially anyway), I was given the golden star. It would also give me another good mark against all of the holes and black marks all over my file.

This did not sit well with me. As my brother disappear off to the States for more training with his men, the notice came to me through the usual channels. Colonel Potter called me to his office a few hours after the last medical conference (Sidney being a participant and taking me back with him now) and informed me of the decision from heads higher up than him. He added to be careful and told me that I was leaving with the major when he was to go back.

I left the colonel's office in a daze, unsure of what to do or what to believe anymore. The news had been surprising and then some. By then though, a lot of things had been going on and a lot of it not resolved and not told to anyone yet. I received a frantic call and then a letter from my mother, explaining that my horrid stepfather, Clarence Lowes – rapist, pervert, abuser and all out manipulator – had died in his sleep a week before from a heart attack (and in bed with another woman that was not Mom). Worse, before I was told by Margaret about Dean, I was sending letters and getting them back marked that the address did not exist anymore. For a while, I thought my brother actually died until I was informed by the chief nurse herself of the reassignment the 43rd had and her offered help to get my missives to the right location.

And then, there was the war that was making me older and forcing me to think. Not only did I have to work out a plan to get out of Korea alive, but I also needed to ensure something else. A life was what I concluded I desperately needed. Even before I turned eighteen, I had dropped to the Army's lap for my escape. I ran to them with nothing except my wrecked nerves and a want to help others more hurt than I was. From there, I went on a career that nobody should have undergone and now ended up in a hellhole that I could not get out of and all because my idiotic old CO, Colonel Flagg, who was always up to no good and had too many tricks up his sleeve.

I had a bad feeling that Flagg was going to determine my fate after the war in Korea ended. As I did a circuit around the camp and started another (throwing a football back at Father Mulcahy as he tried to take on the Protestants by himself again), my brain went through all possibilities and plans and threw them out. The goal was pretty clear, but the road to get there was not. I wanted to have a life with Hawkeye and Shannon and to go home, wherever that was. I wanted a home life that did not include espionage, war and death. I wished for peace, a loving family and an actual roof over my head that was not a tent.

That seemed too much to ask for. However, the words Father Mulcahy told me some months ago echoed in my head. I needed to take control of my life back and that needed to happen somehow. He may not have known what was in my past, but he saw a lost soul if there ever was one and he tried his best to comfort me, a poor and pregnant sinner in his eyes. I was not religious by any stretch of the imagination. I heard wise words and I was taking them into deep consideration.

Finally, just as I noticed a shadow sneaking up behind me, I got an idea for my problem. It was a small one and I needed to work on it when the time came, but it was one nonetheless. In the meantime, I would have to contend with the person who was following me and hope for the best since his teeth seem to be closing in on my neck and all in the public eye too. I had to put up a good fight after all.

"Penny for your thoughts," Hawkeye said, his breath warm in my ear.

"Nickel for your pillow talk," I replied, trying to smile as I pushed him away. "What's up?"

"I was going to ask the same of you." Hawkeye decided to walk beside me instead of behind me this time, giving me the space I craved. "What happened? Anything unusual happen back home?"

I had to bite my tongue. I was not ready to tell Hawkeye about Clarence dying the way he did (he knew about Dean though). The first night I was in the Swamp with him on a date, it was easy to talk to him about the way I was treated and how it followed me to the present day. Memories like that can last you or years and make you believe that there is no such thing is the middle ground. Now, it seemed like I was not ready to talk about how the man cheated on my mother once more and died while doing it. I didn't even ask Mom what had happened to the poor woman stuck in bed with a corpse. I would imagine a church hounding her, but I wasn't one for gossip anyway.

This time, I decided to focus on my new assignment. "Seems like I'm heading back with Sidney," I said lightly, trying not to make a big deal out of it.

"What?" Hawkeye stopped and me along with him. "What do you mean? You not heading back to the front with him, are you?"

"It just means that I am temporarily assigned, so yes, I am heading to the front," I replied. My fears remained in my mind and unvoiced. "It's a study that they thought I would give more insight on."

"On what now?"

"Something they called in World War I as shell shock. We'll see how it runs."

"How long are you staying away and playing soldier?"

"If you mean playing with guns, I am not. There are guards for that."

"Yeah, but that doesn't necessarily mean there's no danger."

"Hawkeye, I don't have much of a choice. You don't either. We're following orders until we're told not to anymore."

"It won't be the same without you."

"Grab another nurse if you're that distressed, Hawkeye. You don't need to stay faithful to me."

That may have stopped Hawkeye's ranting, but his face suddenly turned to stone, something I normally do not witness and usually see when he's close to exploding. Choosing not to have the camp crowd us during this heated argument, he took me by the elbow firmly and led me to the Swamp. With the cold weather so nasty after a warm spell, the tent flaps were down and the place had some balminess in there. Frank was not in sight, although BJ was, washing some very ugly argyle socks that his wife Peg sent from home. He saw our approach and put his boots on to leave.

Once BJ had left and without another word (I guessed he saw that we were in the middle of a discussion that he did not need to hear), Hawkeye guided me to a chair by his cot. I obeyed him, remaining as stiff as the cold. He himself sat on his bed, getting comfortable and snuggling under his coat…without me. It was a smug gesture and I hated every moment of it.

"I don't want another nurse," Hawkeye finally admitted baldly when he was ready to talk. "I want _you_, Jeanie. There's been nobody after you and nobody steady before you except for Caryle and that was many years ago, when I was very broke and in residency in Boston. Don't you understand that?"

I nodded. "I still don't trust the situation. You have a track record and you broke it."

"You don't trust me?"

"No, no, not that. I'm just worried my heart would be broken again and I can't take it anymore. I want you to be happy and I don't want to be selfish about my own too."

Hawkeye took my gloved hands into his. "Jeanie, I can't promise you that it won't happen. Believe me, I've cornered myself too many times and proposed to myself when I couldn't look someone in the eye. I'm dedicated to my work too. But this much I can tell you. I'm not backing out. I can't now. You're too precious for me and too good. Just don't tell my wife that."

"What are you trying to tell me?" This I was scared about. Hawkeye never typically opened his heart to me like this.

"I want you to come home with me," Hawkeye blurted out. "I _need_ you to come home with me. Dad doesn't care. He doesn't care if we are married or not either."

"Hawkeye, I don't even _know_ if I'll be able to come home with you when you do," I admitted, feeling flustered and flattered all at once. I never told him much about West Germany (only that I was there on business and Flagg was my CO) and avoided talk of Falk at all times. "I want to though. I think it's a good idea. I don't have anything in Bloomington anymore."

"Not even your mother?"

"My mother is a sick woman, Hawkeye. I can't stay with her or take responsibility of her anymore. I've done my fair share of that and ran away so that I never had to see her again. Lorraine Blake…"

I stopped there. I wasn't ready to talk about Lorraine yet. We have exchanged letters more often now that Henry is gone. She wanted to know more about what our lives were like and the people who had shaped Henry's life before he was killed. I didn't like telling her much to begin with and usually had skirted over the details (mostly because I hate writing). Now, being away from the people I started to truly care about, I might have to rethink that stance and begin to tell my second mother about the troubles we have and how the war is different for us than it is back home.

Hawkeye gripped my hands tighter. "I understand. You also get that we're taking the next step? That there is no turning back?"

I hoped to bring up Shannon at the moment. I wanted to look Hawkeye in the eyes and tell him that I agreed, that there was no turning back the clock and that we were going around all the bases and hitting a home run for the team. In my heart, I wanted to tell him everything: how I was bubbling with excitement about this offer, how scared I was to meet his family and how Shannon might be a good part of this circle as well. However, when my mouth worked to chat of my daughter, I saw the twitch on Hawkeye's mouth and opted out. He wasn't ready yet and might not be for some time.

_For now, it'll be about us. It won't include Shannon yet, although I'll be pushing for it. That's a pain Hawkeye needs to face and something he needs to man up to._

"I can't look back now," I said, smiling because it was true. "We're us now, Hawkeye, not the individuals who came to this place without knowing how and why. And I think I can do this, no matter what comes between us."

With BJ and Frank gone and no medical conference until late in the evening (everyone sleeping off of the one from the previous night or being elsewhere), Hawkeye saw an opportunity. He first let go of my hands and then locked the door to the Swamp. While this immediately merited Frank banging on the outside and demanding entry, we both paid no heed to the major as he screamed about getting his things for the shower. Instead, Hawkeye came up and kissed me hard on the lips, tugging at my coat and then my shirt and bra. While he unsnapped the last with ease, it made me a little wary. I mean, privacy was something that nobody in this camp had, but we seemed to always find the time to take our clothes off and explore each other and it always seemed to involve Frank being outside the picture.

"What's wrong?" Hawkeye asked as he nibbled on my ear lobe.

"Why do we always seem to have fun and Frank likes to spoil it?" My head motioned to the door, where we heard a foot making contact with the wood in an annoying pattern.

"We can wait," Hawkeye promised, sticking his hands back into my shirt and replacing the hooks of my bra. "I was thinking of something else that needs to happen before you leave."

"Oh, what's that?" I was curious.

"You need to stay here in the Swamp. Permanently."

"Hawkeye, I'm not a doctor nor am I male."

"You could have fooled me. Your body is the perfect disguise."

"Hawkeye!"

"I can't live without you, Jeanie. I simply can't. And you're too far away. I'm sure Colonel Potter won't mind."

"Frank will."

"Who cares what Ferret Face wants?"

"I heard that!" Frank yelled. "I heard that! And I'm telling the colonel!"

"Go tell the colonel then!" I yelled back before facing Hawkeye once more with an idea. "I believe Frank needs to be invited to the conference tonight though."

Hawkeye grinned, his features alight with the same plan. "You know, I believe so too. Let's find BJ and Sidney and work on it from there."


	15. Bump in the Night

Three days later and just after the year of 1952 started, I was sitting in the passenger side of a jeep with Sidney, riding faster to what appeared to my doom. My things stuffed in the back seat and about to fly out at any second the way he was driving, I held onto my breakfast as best as I could as we headed closer and closer to the front lines. The dirt roads of Korea rose and fell before us and most of it without a word passing between us too. A few living beings had passed by, most of them columns of soldiers or bunches of farmers and their children, and small battles refused to give up their spirit in the heat of their passion. By the time we reached the last checkpoint five miles east of the 4077th, bullets were following us and had made our spare tire nothing more than shredded rubber. We remained as low as we could, Sidney's head peeked up enough to drive and mine tasting the cold metal of the jeep.

"Is it normally like this?" I asked Sidney while we waited in line for our inspection. It was the first words I said since we left and Hawkeye had given me the farewell kiss from heaven and one that bruised my mouth.

_Will I forever be thinking of his kisses, even at the most inappropriate time? God, I miss him. I hope the hurt lasts me until tomorrow morning._

"I guess." Sidney shrugged his shoulders, ducking lower than I did when I heard the shots come closer. "It's not my place to decide that though."

"What is?" I was curious.

"Getting soldiers back on the line," Sidney replied, moving the jeep a little more forward. "Yours is too. The Army is interested in shell shock. They didn't think the British were right and ignored it for years…until now, that is. They had too many cases and too many times I said some of them could not stand it any longer. They finally took it seriously and here we are."

"Nice to know."

"I don't make the decisions around here though. That's up to the brass. We're just the tools they need to beat the Brits at their own game supposedly…as if there was one to begin with."

"We have our asses full of them who think they're better. I understand."

"Makes me wonder why they chose you."

"Long story, but I think we have the time."

"I know a little. Does this have to do with Flagg?"

"I would assume so, so I'll save that for a rainy day. However, it's also got to do with my astute way of seeing things. That's why the CIA picked me up. Great observation skills and the ability to keep my mouth shut. However, even now I am regretting taking up the original offer."

"I see."

Seriously doubting that Sidney understood, I turned to silence. He did as well, his eyes facing the MP now motioning for us to come. We did, presented our ID cards, dog tags and everything else except a kitchen sink and waited as our jeep was reviewed. I didn't expect the sergeant to take apart my baggage either (my underwear from Hawkeye visible for miles) and was about to complain to the officer on duty when I noticed that it was Flagg. Startled, I remained quiet, thinking. It was easy to pick him out, the disguise nothing more than a moustache and some makeup job that went horribly wrong.

Sidney and I saluted and we were off, nothing to be found that was suspicious, even underwear that might hide an explosive. I felt Flagg's eyes follow us down the road. I tried to ignore the nagging feeling I was experiencing. I felt paranoid and silly to believe that he meant me harm, but seeing him there rattled some cages in my mind and made me cautious. He was out there and he was spying, perhaps onto me about the plans I had to regain a civilian life with Hawkeye and to bring Shannon home with me. That much could not be proven yet, even if Hawkeye and I just started discussing Crabapple Cove. Time will tell.

Within fifteen minutes, Sidney and I arrived at our destination. As I took my bags out from the back seat, I ran for the doors, passing an MP and his CO patrolling on my way in. Outside and some yards away, explosions rocked the ground we stood on and gunshots poisoned the air we breathed. It was chaotic, I had to admit, and something I did not expect either. Worse was inside, within the white-washed walls and the cells that lined the hallways heading to our quarters.

Slowing down, I started noticing my surroundings, occasionally throwing myself to the ground to ensure that I wasn't shot at or covering my head when a bomb went off. Indeed, the place was very drab. The walls were as pale as the patients that come to the 4077th when wounded. Claw marks and teeth indentions of various sizes, possibly from human usage, lined each side as well, casting a shadow of desperation and depression in the place. Ambling a little further down, there was a cafeteria and kitchens, the smell just slightly better than that of the Mess Tent and a little more appealing. On the other side, there was a recreational room, where some people relaxed despite the war going on outside. Then, down another hallway and to the right, there were my quarters and those of the rest of the staff. My name was etched in chalk on one of the doors, noticeable to the naked eye from a distance.

Entering gingerly towards my resting place, I observed my room like a new assignment, almost like when I was once younger and full of energy. I tried to be excited because it was novel and quite different from what I've done before. However, my happiness was drained. I felt so tired from the trip, yearned for Hawkeye's arms and even wished that I was in the Supply Room with a glass of wine and crackers…and with Hawkeye nibbling on my ear. It was too much to ask, I supposed, and made me sigh. Closing the door, I started unpacking my things and put them away. An hour later, sitting on the real mattress and bed provided to me, Sidney found me, knocking lightly and then entering without me saying a word.

Sidney took a seat next to me. "You want to talk about it, soldier?"

"Huh? What?" I was confused.

"You seem out of sorts," Sidney observed.

"Just not used to this," I replied. I wasn't going to admit much else. Considering that I said enough the last time we talked, I did not want more secrets spilling out.

"You will," Sidney promised. "It's almost like the 4077th."

"Oh?"

"You just have to look at it another way. The people here aren't wounded physically, but _mentally_. It's invisible and you can't locate it until you do a little probing."

"How exhilarating."

"You can say that. You start tomorrow though. All you're doing is taking notes and sending your reports to Seoul. You feel like you want to say something during the sessions, don't. You could be liable. I think the only thing you can do is talk with them during their off hours and write letters. Act like a nurse. Be the friend I can't be."

Another explosion was heard some yards away. Sidney and I soon hit the floor, covering our heads. Even though we both had our helmets on, it did not seem safe. It was a false sense and one that we did not like. Needless to say though, I was not thrilled at being this close. It was super obvious that some of these patients would not recover in conditions like this. I didn't think my nerves would do the same either, taking a cue from the fear instilled in my heart. It was one that lingered and told me to take the flight instinct I had as a child, screaming at me to run, run, RUN.

"As if I could act like a nurse in this place," I remarked, slowly getting up with Sidney and remaining seated on the cold floor. "When are we leaving?"

"I don't know," Sidney admitted, standing up and giving me a hand. I took it, facing him. "Jeanie, it all depends on many things. I just hope your word is as golden as mine is."

"I doubt it," I said, brushing off some imaginary dust from my pants and shivering. "We'll see. Now, where can someone get a decent cup of Army-issued coffee?"

"None to be had until morning," Sidney informed me lightly. "We get a shipment once a week, sometimes once every two weeks, if we're lucky."

I was about to spit out a comment about how effective the Army is and how we never get any supplies, but Sidney suddenly darted out and left, excusing himself when he heard someone yell his name. Now left alone to my devices and quite suddenly, I sunk back into the comfortable bed. There was room enough for one person, maybe two if Hawkeye and I were a little flexible. Laughing to myself and blushing red thinking of the all the dirty, rotten things we would be doing in our off time, I made myself so comfortable on the bed that I fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was nighttime. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, noticing for the first time that there was a window in my bedroom and that it was cracked and caked with mud and bullet holes, some of them etched with the metal that burst through. Even if the battle was a little farther away than it was earlier, I still heard and smelled the war outside. I stayed as far away as I could from the view, choosing instead to turn the light on, dimming it and drawing the curtains, and to put my things away. Hawkeye had helped me pack my clothes and necessities (as well as give me so many promises I could weep), so random items popped out, like a flask of still gin, pictures from months ago and even a shirt that smelled like Hawkeye and the Swamp. I wanted to cry right then and there, missing the place that I wanted to escape and feeling like I was thrown away from that home in a rush and without a proper goodbye.

_Home._ They always said that home is where the heart is. I have to say, even though the 4077th was a horrible place to be and the hours are long with the boredom and office hours, it was a unit that I had spent a good portion of my Army career at. There, I had some friends and Hawkeye of course. I was coming along at a better pace than when I first arrived and that alone made my life a little more worthwhile, even if I wished that I was dead sometimes.

It was then that I unexpectedly had the urge to write a letter to Hawkeye. Normally, I don't like to. My hand cramped constantly, the drooling on about my life and feelings bored me and it always seemed like a monumental task each time. Now, digging out my paper and pen, I settled into a position of coziness and dated the letter and put the usual "to and from" locations underneath. I started in about how we arrived here, noted a mistrustful person I saw that I would describe in person and then how afraid I was. Finally, I started in about the news at home, beginning with Clarence.

_I guess I should have told you when the call came, Love. I know that we were in surgery and I seemed a bit off and only shrugged the feeling off as something akin to annoyance about my family, but it's true. My stepfather, the same man who had tortured and tormented me, is dead. To be honest, he died doing what he always did, which was cheating on my mother and seducing another local woman under his own roof. He supposedly had a heart attack in bed and died sleeping next to this poor woman._

_To be fair, I should have gone to you and spilled the beans. However, it didn't seem right at the time. I was too shocked and words failed me. I believe Dean is the only other person who knew and he was out and about somewhere, God possibly knowing where and how. Even so, hearing that a person who you hated with your whole being is gone is something that still surprises you, almost like a stab in the back. I feel…I don't know. I feel very tired and weary, I guess. To wish that upon someone and finally see that sort of curse go through is something that I can't really describe on paper, now that I am far away from you and wanting to cry._

_Maybe in another week, I'll feel differently. For now though, as I stare out of the window in my room and wish upon a star, perhaps I can hope that my stepfather received peace after a life that he did not have any. We are always taught to not be jealous or spiteful towards others and always have a good spirit or else it would come back to you. Nowadays, even that fills me with dread. For what reason, I can't say. For now though, Love, I can tell you how mixed up I feel about the whole situation and how I just want the pain to end…_

I had to stop right there. The words were true. I didn't know how to react to Clarence's untimely death. Like the wind that gets knocked out of one every once in a while, this had made me tumble to the ground and want to get back up, but lacking the air to keep living. Some months ago, I had sent him a curse through the mail after a particularly nasty letter he sent to me while I was pregnant with Shannon, advising me to marry Daniel Simmons and renounce Hawkeye. I was to be a liar and a fool all the same and be under his thumb once more. However, even my stepfather had not realized the power of words and those in the CIA.

Seeing that three pages of nonsense and nothingness had been written, I went back and reread everything. It was a typical letter that described just about everything and anything. I poured my heart out to Hawkeye, hoping that he'd do the same back, and admitted that I was depressed and lacked joy. Yes, I was pretty unhappy. Hell, I had to watch my life fall apart before my very eyes and see the power that Flagg had over me. From keeping me here in Korea to declaring me a security risk, I had all but signed my life away when I agreed to be his agent after the last war was finished.

Worst of all, I was still feeling destitute from the last three months of gambling, sacrifices and farewells. I had given birth to the most beautiful child, a healthy baby girl, and she was taken away from me and given to a man who was not her father and all for the sake of revenge (for Flagg anyway). The most likely candidate that was my daughter's biological father would not speak to me of her and after the last night together cut ties to her completely and would not say of word except in anger. Then, after a month of still feeling like a brick wall hit me in the face, we all lost Henry as a casualty of war and gained a new CO who was trying to help us all heal the best way we could.

And now, this assignment that made me question my own sanity and that of the institution I put my life in. Even I could have told the Army that the British was right and that shell shock was a reality. I had seen enough of the men who rested in Post-Op to know that anything that goes bump in the night would bring the most horrific nightmares around. It was a ridiculous place to be and I wanted nothing more than to pretend it never existed and get on with my life.

Immediately, seeing that I was not ready to talk to Hawkeye about the many troubles I had, I ripped the letter in pieces and threw it in the wastebasket next to the bed. I wanted a fire to burn my soul too, but that was not available in this room. A chill permeated me and my surroundings and it wasn't just the Korean winter that was bothering me. It was a very dark creature of the far recesses in the back of my mind that was demanding entry, begging to be released instead of being chained to the post that I left it at.

I could not afford to allow its release. For the time being, I had to allow myself the luxury of tending to my current needs. My stomach rumbled, telling me that I had nothing to eat since breakfast this morning with Hawkeye and BJ. Telling myself that the cafeteria was near and that food was fresher, I got up from the bed, gulping audibly as I quietly exited my room and tried to find my standing in an awful building situated so near to the fighting.


	16. Through the Fog

I allowed myself a few days of rest and easy reporting before I started to really get my bearings of the place. I followed Sidney around in the meantime, acting like a lost puppy at times and pretending to be a professional at the job, and jotted down some notes, most of them shorthanded and very sloppy with the lettering. When I wasn't paying much attention to Sidney and his patients though, my mind worked onward and thought about my discharge from the Army and how to avoid worrying people, full steam ahead. I worried about how I was getting out and the best way to preserve what I imagined would be my civilian home life. It also constantly considered what to say to everyone back home (wherever that may happen to be), how to say it and to write something without worrying anyone. My last attempt was lame and very pitiful and I did not want to go down that route again.

In the meantime, I wrote worrisome and sometimes sardonic letters in my spare time, a lot of them frantic and telling everyone that I wanted to be anywhere but where I was, but I didn't pen one to Hawkeye just yet. I tried my best not to let everyone know how deeply hurt, tired and desperate I was and I tried to keep an upbeat and spunky attitude. However, even that was failing me and I wanted so desperately to make the ache inside of me go away.

Even Sidney was noticing how down I was and tried his best to keep me from spiraling any further. One afternoon, when he mentioned that I sit out a session and grab a meal without him, I obeyed him as emotionless beings do. I left the room we were in with a patient and immediately got in line for lunch, pocketing my pen and notepad. Afterward, I sat down at a random table, picking at my salad and sandwich and my lousy cup of coffee.

Immediately, my mind went to the mail. The last letter I received was from Colonel Potter and it was a good one, I had to admit. He informed me that he was receiving very favorable reports from Headquarters about me and to keep up the good work. Although I could almost hear the sarcasm in the colonel's voice, I still found concern in his words too, a lot of them telling me to be careful and to keep my head down. He knew about the situation and could only give the best advice he could. However, he did mention at the end that Hawkeye was insufferable and pretty miserable without me (something I expected) and that Dean shared nothing more than that I was ok as far as he knew. The last paragraph promised me a trip to Tokyo if things went the way they planned and that I earned every moment of it.

_Meaning if Colonel Flagg says it's ok._ I was pessimistic, finding myself a seat at the far corner and picking at my sandwich after the salad disappointed me. Turkey on rye with mustard and I wasn't even in the mood for good food.

And that was another thing that bothered me. Nourishment that was not from the 4077th Mess Tent should have had me excited. It didn't. What overshadowed the luck were my surroundings, another thing that depressed me. The battle may have moved to the northeast, but there was still a stray bullet that came our way or the late night shades that were not from our side. Sometimes, we even heard the other patients roam around the building too, pretending to picking off the Communists. Sidney tried his best to contain all of them, but with so few people here, he had his hands full. The rest of the staff was not much better either and did not have the training to take down soldiers that had been told to kill.

My mind was all over the place, so much so that I did not notice that someone joined me at my lone table. A patient, appearing to be an officer and a gentleman (I hoped), remained standing before me until I saw him, startled to see such a sadder figure. His face asked me so many questions, one of them begging to sit with me. I nodded consent slowly, going back to nibbling on the sandwich. It tasted pretty dry and crumbled in my mouth, reminding me so much of a martini I loved to drink.

"Lieutenant Shane Michaels," the man introduced himself, holding his hand out for a shake as he seated himself.

I took it absentmindedly, smiling weakly. "Captain Jeanette Morrison."

"You're the nurse, right?" the lieutenant asked me, eying the costume jewelry I always wore on official days like today. "The nurse that came from the 4077th?"

"Usually," I replied, trying to keep positive to this stranger. "I try not to be, although I can say that I came from that neck of the woods."

"Oh, you're a funny one."

"The one and only. Can I help you, Lieutenant?"

"Shane, please. Can I call you Jeanette?"

"If you must. I prefer Jeanie though." I resumed my lunch, but soon found out that I wasn't as hungry as I thought I was. I put my food down and eyed Shane with a critical eye. "What bothers you?"

Shane said nothing for a while, which was something that caught my attention. This made me open my mind a little more and study him harder. He was young (I had to give him that), but he was a little older than I was, maybe in his mid-thirties to my twenty-nine. His sandy blonde hair was swept to one side, his green-colored vision suspicious of anything that was not familiar. His hands even vibrated lightly, something that also made me wary and wonder the reason he was here. Yes, he was sent here to recover, but why? Why would someone so young and full of life, just like me, be here?

"I don't know," Shane finally said, picking up his fork and swallowing a bit of his salad. "I guess I saw a lonely woman and felt she needed some company."

"I'm not that lonely." I was truthful and felt like I had to be funny to chase away my own blues. "I have a warm bed back home."

"Married and in the same unit as your husband?"

"No, no, I'm not married. Back at the M*A*S*H I was originally stationed at, I have a steady sweetie and he's been proving to me daily that he's faithful, although he used to be the camp's skirt chaser. Makes me feel strange to pull in a catch."

"You're lucky. Most people can't claim that on their resume."

"I guess I am. You?"

This is where Shane got very quiet. I think I might have spilled too many details about myself and Hawkeye and that upset him. I saw the same routine that most single men had (jealousy and maybe a little sadness), but it was different with this one. His thin lips twitched to one side, remembering something bittersweet. Then, very empowered to do something about that special resentment, his hand quickly went to one side to reach for an item that would cause harm, but there was nothing there and that was what confused him. He looked back at me with his soft eyes and inquired of me many things, mostly what happened.

I needed to assess the situation because I honestly saw that it was becoming dangerous. Shane was a quiet sort of guy. And I was always taught that those kinds of people are the ones to watch out for. I mean, when I first met Clarence as a child, he took me, my mother and Dean in his car (something that was rare to have back then because of widespread poverty and then the Great Depression) and we left Daddy behind. He was quiet too, not saying much as we packed the car and moved from town to town before settling in Bloomington. The face Shane had? It reminded me so much of Clarence and perhaps many people I met afterward. It was haunting, mysterious and even daring all at once and for different reasons too.

"What happened, Shane?" I finally asked, my heart beating against my chest. I was afraid of the answer.

Shane sighed. "Can we…you know…take this elsewhere? Not have it talked about with Major Freedman?"

"Scout's honor," I replied. I had enough of my lunch anyway and so did Shane. We deposed of our trays and I followed him back to his room on the other side of the building.

Now, Sidney had warned me not to speak to the other patients and to take notes when I could for the report because some of them could be precarious and injure someone like me, especially if they thought that I was against them. Shane seemed a little different than the typical cases we go over though. He inquired that I follow him and that I hear out his story and not out in the open, where gossip is worse than the 4077th and sometimes the person just as malicious with their words. I couldn't blame him in the slightest, although I was cautious as well and tried to recall the steps to overcome someone who intended harm.

Shane's room was bare, much like the others', and lacked creature comforts. The only thing that seemed a little homey was a deck and chair that held a stack of letters (perhaps from home) and some crumpled balls of paper, thrown in frustration against the wall. His closet hung very few clothes and his bed held the plainest sheets. The window let in a little light, but the thick bars on the inside and outside (again, like the other rooms in this place) reminded me that we all had prisons in our minds and not just those who were deemed insane.

I sat at the desk chair while Shane took the bed. I tried to be as casual as possible, but felt like a failure, even though he looked at me with trust. "Why don't you start at the beginning?" I suggested, feeling very silly, especially since I was least qualified to lend an ear to this extent.

Shane let out some breath, almost like he was holding it since we left the cafeteria, and began with little fanfare. "I grew up in some small town in North Dakota. At this point, it won't matter to you where it is and how I became the horrible person I am now. However, from what I can remember, it was a good childhood. I was an only child. My parents doted on me and I had a large family that always laughed, played and spent time together. Nothing prepared me for the outside world though, Jeanie, something that I somehow still can't understand.

"Even though I made plenty of friends and was always the center of the fun, there was that special someone that caught my eye. Her name was Helen. I met her at a town dance when I was fifteen. She partnered up with me without warning when Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra were doing 'Footloose' over those old radios that someone had. She was beautiful, that Helen, and she seemed to like me at first. I mean, she was perfect, always kind and considerate and all of that. Plus, she was county queen of the faire two years in a row, which was always a plus. She stepped aside the year we met.

"It didn't take too long before I got sucked into her life. I mean, Jeanie, she was…you know, she was into some heavy drinking. Helen flaunted that she didn't care about Prohibition and neither did her parents. They drank into they hit the floor and I joined them, coming home to my parents with mint on my breath and a lying smile. And why not have some more fun, even if it was illegal? My parents didn't suspect a thing and thought that Helen was the right girl for me. We all did. We went steady for some time until I was eighteen, separated when I went off to school for teaching and settled in another state, and then I came back. I cleaned myself up and hoped that Helen did the same. I didn't want to marry her yet and wanted to see how she was before proposing. I had another person in mind as my wife and I wanted to make sure I was making the right choice.

"To my surprise, I found out that Helen was no longer drinking and was healthy. She was as bright as the day I met her, even more so actually, and had was married, but was widowed when her husband was caught in a cattle stampede. She had no children and lived alone in a little house with a white picket fence. By then, she had matured and was…_is_…the most wonderful person in the world. We were in our late twenties and at the height of our lives. There was so much more than just lost years and unshed tears. No, Jeanie, it was love all over again and I fell for it hard.

"Not even a week after we started courting again, which happened not even three years after her husband's death, we wanted to take the next step. I proposed and we married six months later. Not even ten years married and we had no children, even though we had a beautiful home and I worked hard at the local school to make ends meet and to make her happy. We tried several times to have a family…God knows we did our best, Jeanie…but Helen could not carry a child. We finally resolved to adapt a parentless one and that deal was about to be signed when I was drafted into this war about a year ago.

"It was horrible to think of separation, but it had to be done. Helen said goodbye to me at the train station and waved her handkerchief until I was out of sight, yelling that she'd write to me often and that when I came home, we'd take in a baby. It was a promise that I hoped she'd keep and she did…at least for a while. To have those words of hers dance on a page was fantastic and it was almost like she was next to me. Even the hope of having a family at long last was a balm.

"About ten months ago, the letters stopped coming and it was like that for weeks. Before that, I would get them almost daily and then read them out loud to everyone unless it was very private. It was a morale booster and one that I gladly partook in. However, when nothing came for me and the other guys, I grew suspicious. I wrote home immediately, waiting for a response. The others…well, they tried their best and always gave me news from home. In the meantime, I got nothing except the occasional one from my parents, asking me this thing and that. I would tell them all I could, but they would can't understand. They never will."

By then, I was still in a sort of rapture that comes with hearing about tragedies. I was so sucked into the story that I almost did not hear the pause. "I understand," I finally replied, nodding at Shane to continue.

Shane smiled, but it did not seem encouraging and was still very gloomy. "Three months later, I finally received a letter from Helen. It wasn't as heavy as the other ones had been, but it was one. By the time I received it, we were heading out to spook the Chinese. There was a heavy fog out there and the colonel in charge said that we were going to run in through the lines and attack with our bayonets. Now, not all of us that those at the end of our guns and a lot of our group argued about it, but orders were orders. Even though we couldn't even see our hands in front of our faces, we had to move…and do it quickly. The signal was supposed to come in five minutes, so I took the time to kiss the envelope my lovely wife had sealed with her love and open it. I shouldn't have. I really shouldn't have.

"Helen wrote to tell me that she was seeking a divorce from me. She did not want the child we talked about and so desperately wanted. Instead, in the time that she had not written to me, she had picked up drinking again and had run away from our home, leaving behind a mortgage that I could not pay and an empty home that is now being taken back by the bank. She moved in with a local minister, one of those that could marry, and had taken him as a lover, building herself the perfect nest with the money I sent her. She left behind a long trail of debt and deceit…and it burned me. _Badly_.

"As soon as that signal was sounded, I was off. I tucked that letter into my back pocket and was off to meet the Chinese. The fog had not cleared, but that didn't matter. The colonel wanted us out and I had to lead them. We went forward, all of us with those bayonets and even with the guys with just guns, and we charged right into the camp. By then, when we had reached their side, the fog had cleared out and we were running on full tilt. They were surprised and started retreating, but we followed them and gained some ground.

"Jeanie, I can't tell you the slaughter we inflicted. I think you can just imagine it though…the results of it anyway. It made me sick. Reading that letter on top of ambushing the enemy was enough to make me throw up. Luckily, it didn't take long to finish them off and proclaim a victory for us. At the end of the fight, when our side suffered little losses and their side lost everything, I had enough. I sat down at the enemy's campfire, the one that we ran over, and pulled my gun out. I was about to shoot myself when the colonel tackled me to the ground. I fought him back, figuring that experiencing more action would make me beat the old man, but that theory went out the window.

"Honestly, Jeanie, I can't remember much else until the moment the colonel tried wrestling my gun out of my hands. When my firearm turned and had prematurely fired, he became the target by accident. By then, the other guys had to pull me away from the dead body because I was sobbing and reaching for it. They then had to pack me into a jeep that would bring me here because I tried sticking a grenade in my mouth too."

By the time Shane had finished his story, I did not realize it and just cleared my throat to break away the awkwardness. It was an amazing story, I had to say, and just as sad as mine was. I had lost my first true love on a CIA mission to the Soviet Union before being sent immediately to Korea when the war began. It didn't compare, although it was typical. A lot of people who came here lost their loved ones because of their absence from home. Although distance made the heart grow fonder, it made a lot of them seek attention elsewhere, leaving those in Korea without warm arms to welcome them home.

I wanted to cry, but kept my composure for Shane. "I'm so sorry," I started, unsure of what else to say. "I understand what it feels like to lose someone that's close to you."

"Not like that." Shane put his head into his hands, clearing it out perhaps, and then looked back up at me. "Jeanie, you can't even fathom what it's like now, to feel the shame of a woman who betrayed you and then have to live with killing your commanding officer and facing a court martial for it later on. You really can't."

I nodded. Yes, I can see Shane's point. I never had to face a military tribune for a crime of insanity. From what I gathered and in the years I've been in the Army, shooting a commanding officer required a lot of careful investigative steps as well as determining if a plea of insanity could be placed. Shane was on the edge of a firing squad and that was putting it lightly. Even Leavenworth would not be worthy for a damaged man like him.

"No, I'm not in your shoes," I finally admitted, "but I can see what you're facing. Doesn't make it any better. I don't think I have the right words to make it better, but I do appreciate you telling me this."

Shane nodded again. However, by the way he was motioning at me now, he felt the interview to be over, opting out of comforting words. He got up from his bed and opened his room door for me to leave. I obeyed, mulling over whether or not I should tell Sidney his story. As the door shut behind me, I realized that I seemed to be the only person who managed to get through Shane's fog and get to the bottom of his problems. However, I also was just another lonely person in this institution. He could have just chosen me to unload himself on. The choice was out of sorts too and that was what made me confused.

Afterward, I decided that Sidney could use the story later on if he asked. I felt bound to my oath of keeping secrets from others and I meant it. In the meantime, I went about my day as I always did and was only called to Sidney's side later in the afternoon. It was two hours before dinner and then bedtime, an early one for me without anything to drink or a body to warm up. By midnight though, I woke up to some commotion outside my door. I put on my bathrobe and stuck my head out, but Sidney saw me immediately and pushed me back in, seating me on my bed. As he shut the outside world from my bedroom, he faced me severely and crossed his arms.

"What did Lieutenant Michaels tell you earlier?" Sidney asked me gently, preparing me for something. What it was, I didn't know yet, but by the way his face twisted painfully when recalling an event, it was gruesome.

"His story," I answered truthfully. "Nothing more, nothing else. Why?"

Sidney turned sympathetic and sat down on the bed with me, putting an arm around my shoulder to soften a blow. "Jeanie, Lieutenant Michaels killed himself a few minutes ago. He hung himself."

I was shocked, unable to form a coherent sentence. "How…_why_…?"

"We'll talk later," Sidney replied as he got up and faced me one more time. "Right now, I need to contact Grave Registry."

I didn't know when Sidney left, the astonishment behind the news so raw and surprising to me. Shane had killed himself by hanging? It was preposterous. I had just talked with him some hours ago and he was fine. He seemed troubled by his losses and his luck, but he was still up and fighting. He didn't have the tools necessary to take his life. His room had been cleared of that and even some, I remembered…

_How and why?_

Those two questions rang inside of my head. How did Shane kill himself and why did he do it? Sidney said he hung himself, but did not specify what material he used. The reasons might have been because he was driven by recent events, but even then, a man could not take on those and then think that his life was no longer valid. Even in my younger years did I see that the mind wanted to go, but the body fought to keep alive. That was the fight with depression.

By then, an idea sparked. I knew how to write to Hawkeye now. It would be in the same vein as the others, but with a kink in it. He would know how much I steeled myself for this assignment and then even how much I love him and miss him. It won't be a true love letter, but it was worth a shot in hell to keep my sanity alive by writing to the man I love.

Reaching for some paper, a pen and something hard to write on, I began my letter.

* * *

**I apologize ahead of time for the unusually long chapter. The story by Shane Michaels in this section are taken from firsthand accounts from Korean War veterans. I took bits and pieces of their stories and shaped it in the one he told, adding in the unfortunate victims of war. Many thanks to those who shared!**


	17. Something Out of Nothing

Finally, after over a month of almost being run over by the enemy and being killed by them or the people I watched, I was going home to the 4077th. Situated at the moment in Wonju, a semi-deserted town some miles from where we originally started our work, Sidney and I finished our report and sent it over to Headquarters in Seoul with triplicate copies filed away for later. The day after the mail went to Seoul, I packed my things, a time I rejoiced in. The assignment was something different and I enjoyed it a little (even though the war knocked daily), but it was time for me to go back to being a nurse and I had to go home. That was what I joined the Army for and that was what I wanted to finish the war as.

Sidney knocked on my bedroom door and entered as I was putting my full suitcase on the floor, ready to be carried out. He shut the door behind him and sat on the bed when I did. "Leaving so soon?" he asked jokingly.

"Yes," I replied excitedly. "Do you blame me?"

"No," Sidney admitted. "You did some good work, Jeanie. I can't blame you for wanting to leave after so much observation."

"It was exhausting."

"You see my line of work getting flooded with people?"

"Not exactly. Makes me appreciate what you do."

Sidney nodded evenly. "Sometimes though, even a nurse can have her breaking points. Now, we never talked about Lieutenant Michaels, which seems to be yours here. You care to tell me now what happened in his room the day he died?"

Shane was something that I could not explain to anyone, not even to Sidney. Even after he was carted away on a covered gurney and his body taken home without military honors, he was a topic I did not want to talk about. After trying my hardest to keep sane in this place, I thought him buried and long gone and quite literally too. Now, Sidney brought up a sore spot in my time here and I almost lost it since the taste of it was so bitter. I wanted to spill everything out about what happened to the man and how he broke down, but I could not. Even Sidney saw this and smiled.

"I need to write another report," Sidney clarified slowly. "I put it off for a few weeks to get this 'shell shock' thing out of the way. But now that Headquarters is demanding what happened, especially in light of the last one a few months before, they deserve the truth. I know you have something in there about what Shane went through. It could mean clearing his name or damning it for his family. It also means closure for everyone, you most of all."

"Every life isn't exactly black and white, Sidney," I said, trying to stall and find the time to think about what to say about Shane. "There is always a grey zone we all try to get out of in order to make our lives clearer."

"This one wasn't though," Sidney pressed me, "and that's what bothers everyone, even me. In the meantime, you go about your life like nothing happened and will possibly go home to the 4077th and drink to your heart's content. You can't bottle it this time, Jeanie. This is now official and my butt will be in a sling if I don't get something."

"Would you believe me if I felt like shit if I said anything?" I asked Sidney, feeling my promise to Shane slip away from my grasp. It was slowly becoming out of my control and one that even I did not want to get entwined with.

Sidney only shrugged his shoulders. "What you say doesn't have to go on report, but the truth is appreciated."

"The truth is also stranger than fiction."

"Try me. I've heard a lot in my life as a psychiatrist."

"Not this one, I think."

"Well, there's always a first on a date."

I sighed, trying to think of the best words to describe Shane. It was such a unique circumstance that brought him to Korea and the days leading up to it were filled with nothing more than pure illusion and chance. Truly, it had been a life unfulfilled. If there was an afterlife, I wished Shane the best in it and hoped he found the peace he never had in this one. However, even I was biting my tongue and wishing Sidney never put me on the spot like this. I felt sorrier for him that the Army made him get to the bottom of the issue.

"Let's just say he went insane with grief because his wife was leaving him," I said truthfully. "He almost killed himself on the field after a battle and then accidentally shot his CO in the struggle."

"That's what his buddies mentioned," Sidney remarked, crossing his arms. "They also said he never went off his rocker before and suddenly snapped. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I guess that's what is needed," I suggested. "Guy went a little insane because his wife went to leave him and battle fatigue kicked in. Bad timing on all parts."

Sidney nodded in turn. "I guess that's fair enough."

I thought this was the end of the conversation. I turned around to make sure that none of my things had been left behind, but Sidney had other plans. He didn't leave, but he didn't exactly linger awkwardly either. Getting up and leaning against the door frame just so, he watched me clean up a little up, even eying me sweep the floors when I saw dust in the corners (so unlike me and dealing with the Swamp), and then let out something I didn't expect.

"So, when were you going to tell me about your little poem?" he asked outright.

By then, I was making the bed and froze, the pillow still in my hands. "Huh?" Even I was a little confused.

"A poem, a ditty or even a shorter story," Sidney continued. "You know…words with or without meaning? Little lines that tell of emotion and surroundings?"

"Oh, _those_," I said, trying to buy more time as I fluffed up the pillow and settled it at the head of the bed. I knew by then what Sidney was talking about. "Yeah, I guess I threw it somewhere in my bags. Need me to retrieve it?"

"No, no." Sidney stood up straighter, his arms now at his sides. "Just need an explanation on why you are repeatedly saying that 'suicide is painless'."

I had to look Sidney in the eyes. Pivoting my body towards him, my eyes met his. "A poem that means something and nothing, Sidney. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Then why call it after an act so heinous that even one cannot think back on it with a smile?"

"This isn't happiness, Sidney, but a life I would never wish upon anymore. This is our own suicide, ordered by those higher up than we are who think that we can run with an impossible task and live. They would not know how we are each dying inside."

"And that is our own suicide?"

"Sidney, we're born to die. Everybody dies someday. The question is _how_ it happens."

"In our own time, I suppose, and without the aid of someone or something else, I'd hope."

"Don't you ever get scared that you'd never see your family again? That this, your own suicide, would bring you nothing but ruin?"

"Do you?"

Sidney got me there. "My daughter," I admitted. "Hawkeye. Maybe some people back at the 4077th. My brother especially. I'd be scared if they never saw me again. I don't think, if I was able to see them and be invisible in the so-called hell, that I'd be able to handle it."

"I think we'd all be ghosts of a history that people would forget and would be overshadowed by things bigger than a war nobody likes to acknowledge." Sidney finally released me from his invisible grip, opening the door to signal the conversation's end. "See you at the next poker game?"

"You bet," I replied, grinning from ear to ear. "Bring your best couch."

Sidney then laughed, leaving me to my devices, which then included departing from this horrible place. It didn't take me long to get everything gathered and then put on a jeep to head back to camp. It was a ride I'd rather forget, but it was nonetheless joyous to be back in Hawkeye's arms. However, after a meeting with Colonel Potter and that horrible letter and news he gave me about Henry, my day was shattered. After dealing with everyone who was involved and named in the waterlogged papers, I was emotionally drained and could hardly stand up to celebrating my return, practically sleeping on my feet as I tried not to sob. The next thing I could recall was sort of waking up in the Swamp, held up by Hawkeye as we laid down on his cot together.

"Ahh, my sleeping princess finally awakens to a kiss," Hawkeye said, motioning at BJ at the other corner for a drink (and taking my line from when BJ woke from his first drunken nightmare in Korea). "Care for a belt before we cause some mischief?"

"I think BJ's virgin ears have heard enough in five months," I replied, unsure of what happened other than hearing news about Henry. "What happened here?"

Hawkeye did not notice that I looked around the Swamp in dismay. It was cleaned. The dirt was off the floors, the filthy magazines Hawkeye kept had been stacked on a shelf neatly and the still had been dusted until it shone. Although it was brewing some gin from this morning (sure to be a good year), it bubbled clearly and without the usual noxious fumes. When I checked on Frank's end of things, I saw a lot of people's belongings piled within his tight space, all of mine included in the mess.

"Needle Nose decided it was a good idea to tidy up after us," BJ explained, giving me a glass of gin While I sipped, he continued his story. "While we were in surgery and he pretended to go to sleep, he committed treason of the highest kind."

"_No_." I was scandalized, sitting up and putting a hand to my heart. "It can't be!"

"He couldn't his hands off of us," Hawkeye added, soon next to me with his feet planted on the floor. "He couldn't even keep his nose away from our business."

I groaned, leaning back into Hawkeye. "I can't believe it," I said in disbelief, although I wasn't too surprised that Frank decided to ruin everything. "I simply can't believe it."

"We need something to get this place back into shape," Hawkeye mentioned, trying his hardest not to show off in front of BJ (his lips were pretty close to my neck though). "We need that extra special thing to turn this place back into the Swamp."

I nodded in agreement, although my mind was everywhere else and trying to distract itself from the news about Henry. Colonel Potter had told me everything and I still could not accept it as the truth. We all were coping in our own ways, Hawkeye included (even as he ranted and raved about the ever unpopular Frank Burns beside me), but I could not get myself to wrap around this concept. Henry had left us all a letter, addressed to me, about the things he wished to tell us before he went home. Now, only four months after he was declared dead, it was said that his belongings had been recovered and his body, along with who knew who many others, had been fished out of the Sea of Japan and was being sent home at long last.

It was horrifying all the way around. To be honest, it was a tragedy to learn that Henry's body was lost and that it would never return home. Now, it hear that it was now going home to Bloomington seemed to prove that there was such thing as closure. I knew that, regardless of what happened, Lorraine would be devastated. To have her relive this terrifying dream after four months of uncertainty and healing was like opening up a wound and putting salt in it again and again. The Army was almost infinite in its wisdom, I concluded as I took another sip of my gin, and that alone was enough to let things be. I decided to let it go, although the nagging feeling remained.

"I know!" BJ exclaimed, breaking through my own fog as he slapped his knee. "Let's just take everything back and decorate Frank's new place."

"How?" Hawkeye's grin told me he had some ideas. "What new place?"

"Well, we have some leftover birthday decorations from Colonel Potter's party last week," BJ continued. "Why don't we use those in a more…let's say, a provocative manner?"

"And get Margaret involved?" I was all game, putting all thoughts of Henry and Lorraine behind me for the time being.

"We could," BJ said, "but I think setting up the ultimate date would be best."

"So, make a love nest and hope for the best?" I was hoping I was right.

"And make some wedding bells ring." Hawkeye laughed. "Come on. We've got some work to do."

It took some work, but we managed to pull it off. Margaret had gotten into another argument with Frank anyway and sending notes back and forth about marriage (and between Radar too) had been ingenious to say the least. Even the company clerk was snickering when he was delivering and receiving each missive, recounting every moment as the duo counted their blessings and somehow remembered that they had a spark somewhere. Finally, after managing to make a spot for them to lay their little major heads down, the three of us considered it a job well done, especially since it was by the Motor Pool and everyone had a sight to see.

The bets were on too. By the time it almost reached midnight, Frank and Margaret were so sucked into each other (and quite literally too) that the camp's pool had reached a few hundred dollars on if and when they would notice the crowd was cheering them on. Hawkeye, BJ and I predicted that it would be around three in the morning before they noticed a thing. Others said it wouldn't happen or the colonel might catch them first. Regardless, it was disgusting and funny all at once and enough for the three of us to retire to the Swamp.

Although my cot in the nurses' quarters called to me, I felt like my night was not yet done. My things remained in the Swamp and BJ and Hawkeye seemed to be inviting me on over still, calling out behind them that it was welcoming without Frank still. I stayed a little bit more by the Motor Pool to ensure that things weren't so wild that Colonel Potter woke up and was soon back in my favorite spot. When I entered, I saw that Hawkeye had unpacked my bags and he and BJ were seated by the still and silently reading the poem I had written while I was away.

_Suicide is Painless._

The two were silent. Although it was only a few stanzas long and in need of some work, they still gazed at it in amazement. When BJ noticed that I was standing there in shock and anger, he nudged Hawkeye in the ribs and the two set the scribbled paper down on a crate, guilty as sin. Their expressions also changed, that from the embarrassed to the astonished. I mean, Hawkeye and BJ both knew that I hated writing and never actually put a pen to paper when it came to stories and poems. This seemed a little out of my league.

I had to save face somehow, smiling to cover up how mad I was that my belongings had been gone through. "How do you like it?" I asked instead, wringing my hands.

"It's very morbid," BJ offered.

"Also ghoulish," Hawkeye added.

"Crazy as the day is long."

"Loony as your mother."

"Out of this world."

"Makes you a candidate for the rubber room."

"She was just there, Hawk."

"Was she? Oh, well, I forgot."

"But it's good, Jeanie," BJ reassured me, ignoring Hawkeye now. "It's a metaphor to something we can all understand and agree to."

"It's not even finished yet," I protested, finding a seat near them. "I don't know how to. It could be something and nothing."

"Well, words and deeds and inspire one to make something out of nothing and nothing out of something," BJ pointed out. "It's only a matter of time and space. Look, Jeanie, we all have outlets here, some people more eccentric than others. This might be yours. It might take you until the end of the war to finish it. It might never be done when it comes. However, at least this is the beginning of something good in your life."

Hawkeye then handed me a glass full of gin. As he and BJ grabbed theirs, they raised them. "And that something might lead onto another better thing. Cheers!"

The three of us clicked our glasses and drank. We had a refill too, listening to the sounds around the camp that seemed so different from the times Henry Blake was alive and our CO. It seemed so silent that even the Grim Reaper might have thought that we were as dead as he was too. The only thing that was showing that the camp had some life were the whispered hushes from the Motor Pool, pointing out the grunting and screaming that took place in the wonderful bedroom-like place we made for Frank and Margaret.

An hour later, just when we all were going to call it a night and I was going to go back to the nurses' tent (the lights had even gone off in the Swamp), we heard a shrill scream. I grinned, choosing instead to snuggle with Hawkeye on his cot. He took the offer, making space for me as the cheers became louder and Frank and Margaret yelled about something, most likely blaming everyone except themselves for the mess they were in. From the other side of the tent, we heard BJ chuckle, putting his face into his pillow to muffle the noise.

"Good night, Hawkeye, Jeanie," BJ said as he calmed down.

"Good night, Beej," Hawkeye replied, pulling me closer.

I said the same thing, curling in closer to the warm body that made my life a little more worthwhile. Hawkeye put his arm around me, something akin to protecting me from harm, and put his face against my brown hair. I took it all in, happy to be back where I belonged and perhaps feeling somewhat safer, although Hawkeye ensuring that nothing happened to me seemed like a farce. Nonetheless, everything swirled and soon my eyes pictured a different scene, a short distance from Korea, where a plane was flying home, but soon found a watery grave.

I opened my eyes, my heart in my throat and sweat coming down. As the nightlife outside transformed into a fight between Frank, Margaret and Colonel Potter and I made myself bury the nightmare, I tried to find comfort where I could, feeling Hawkeye behind me. Yes, it was perfect and I loved every moment of it, but I was still wary, especially of those words Henry wrote, each water stained paragraph beginning with regretful words of longing and hope and a future he wanted with Lorraine…and would never have.

_I want to tell…_


	18. A Final Curtain Call, No Encores

It was a dismal day to begin with and my mood did not improve with the weather or the absence of the one I loved ever so dearly. Early that morning, Hawkeye left for the 8063rd and all by himself too. The CO there wanted our chief surgeon to be there to demonstrate a technique that he learned in a medical journal that BJ got in the mail and was successful here by those same hands who liked to caress me. Now, after kissing Love goodbye (after laughing off the driver and getting away himself) and messing with Frank a little by rewriting his Bible, I was bored. I sat by Hawkeye's cot for a while and wrote him a little love letter, but afterward, I felt a little empty inside. Oddly enough, it didn't work and I still felt like shit without Hawkeye.

It served me right too. I had just gotten back from a month-long study of shell shock and came back home to Hawkeye. Not even a week later, he was gone. I mean, it was only supposed to be for a day and I would be able to see him before dinner was served in the Mess Tent, but it still stung to feel so alone and without a thing to play with. Eventually, even if I was trying to comfort myself by being someplace like home, staying in the Swamp without Hawkeye drove me insane. I needed to go somewhere and do something useful before my shift tonight or else I was going to run in front of a jeep and enjoy it too. And trust me, there had been a lot of company coming in and out lately and none of them happened to be the 43rd or my brother.

Finally, after listening to BJ and Frank argue about the New Testament and how it had been changed (with me chiming in about the movie being better), Radar came in and told me that Colonel Potter wanted to see me in his office, PDQ. I normally did not get summons from our gallant CO and tried my hardest not to get on his bad side (after putting mayonnaise in Frank's shaving cream, I doubted that), but this was special. I got up immediately, leaving BJ and Frank to their argument, and followed Radar to the office.

Radar soon went back to this space and I was left alone with the colonel. Now, we had not talked much since he told me the news about Henry Blake a few days before and even then, he had been walking on eggshells to ensure his camp was healing from this disaster. However, this time around, his eyes were much kinder before me and not as sympathetic as they were before. He then offered me a drink, which I accepted quickly, and we sat staring at each other for a few minutes before he spoke first. We had to warm up somehow and this seemed to be the only way to break the awkwardness.

"Captain, I understand how difficult life has been here," Colonel Potter began cheerfully, "and I can see how much you try to hide it from everything, even Hawkeye."

"Sir?" I was confused. The topic seemed too broad for me to pinpoint what the colonel was referring to.

"You've been a bit of a pain in the ass since this morning," the colonel clarified specifically. "Actually, Major Houlihan said since last night, but I think she was exaggerating."

I thought so too. I was a little sad the night before when Hawkeye was told his orders. However, dropping an instrument in the OR after Frank slapped my hands for no reason did not equate to me being so devastated about Hawkeye departing from the camp. Indeed, that incident just pissed me off and made me report Frank to Colonel Potter for abuse. Even though I was stuck with Major Malpractice for a Post-Op shift the next night (something I still was not relishing), it did not mean I had to deal with the indignity the man forced on me. It meant that the colonel was able to curb the major's temper and make him work with me in a more civil manner.

"I believe so too." I took another sip of the scotch. "Sir, I'm just not used to it. I could hardly handle it when I was away several times. How did Hawkeye do it?"

Colonel Potter nodded in understanding. "I've been apart from Mrs. Potter for most of my career. It's something you never get used to and also something I explained to Hawkeye too. He just needed to find something to keep his mind busy and he did for a while. Cold showers also helped him."

"How does she deal with it?"

"Mrs. Potter? Oh, she's a strong woman. She knows that this is my life and that retirement is just a little ways down the road."

"After this war?"

"I would hope so, Captain. Now, this is just a day. I'm sure Hawkeye can handle himself. He's done a good job so far."

"I would certainly hope so, Colonel."

Colonel Potter studied me for a minute, thinking as he too took another gulp. "Captain, it seems like you're ready to take on another step in your life. Have you ever thought of it yet?"

"Many times already," I reassured him. "You wouldn't believe how much I've given thought to it."

"By dealing with Colonel Flagg before me, I would tend to think you're a few steps ahead of him." Colonel Potter shuffled some paperwork around his desk as he set aside his now-empty glass, pretending to be busy and awaiting information from me. He even had the gall to pull out my file and look through it a few times more in front of me. "Seems to me that you need some type of way to get the hell out of the situation you're in."

I tried my best not to be indignant since Colonel Potter was still trying to get used to everyone and appraise the situation correctly, but I kept my peace. "Trust me, Sir, I am. By and by, you'll learn more of how and why. Just understand that my mind has been working around the clock."

"You don't trust me enough yet to tell me?" Strangely enough, Colonel Potter wasn't insulted, just amused. His blue eyes even twinkled happily.

"I'll admit it, Colonel, that I don't trust too many people. It's a long road that led me down that pathway. I think this is the place where I have trusted the most people."

"Before then?"

"My brother, maybe a friend or two. Henry Blake when we met, his wife too."

"A friend?"

"I…well, I have a lover before Hawkeye. I trusted him with my life."

"Did you tell Hawkeye about it?"

"Yes, in a letter I sent some weeks ago, when I was away. I was scared that I would never tell Hawkeye the whole truth and still spilled it out. He has not talked to me about it since then and he brushed it off every time I've tried. Maybe he doesn't like talking of past relationships? I sure learned about his quickly and that was no secret. I mean, he was up front and honest about it. He wasn't going to hide them, even the one he almost married."

"But you seem to be the one he would marry."

"I wouldn't know, Colonel. I truly don't. I wouldn't presume."

Groaning as he readjusted himself in his seat, Colonel Potter looked at me straight in the eye, holding my attention for a few minutes, and transformed himself seriously. "Captain Morrison, I have been in this Army for over thirty years. I have seen just about everything and have sat in just as many desks as well. In all of that time too, I've met men and women who ran into each other because of loneliness, relationships going sour and even breakups that tore my heart apart too. You and Pierce? It has got to be the most complicated thing I've ever seen."

"How so?" My heart was beating fast. I only hoped the colonel did not notice it.

"I have heard many stories about Hawkeye Pierce, one of them being he had been a shameless skirt chaser and a pest to the ladies and by the armful," Colonel Potter explained, reminding me of that time long ago. "Rumor seemed to have followed him stoutly since he was drafted almost two years ago. Even after he hooked his left arm around your shoulder, the nurses here have either complained to me about the lack of attention from him or have told me tales of how happy you are with Pierce. There is one thing they can agree on though."

"What's that?"

"Pierce isn't leaving you. If he's that dedicated, what else is he willing to do with you?"

"Sir –"

"Captain, you can't sit there today and tell me that Pierce has not talked about the end of the war. I'm sure he has."

This made me quiet. "He did, Colonel. Hawkeye wants me to come home with him…and I accepted his offer."

"You're joking." Colonel Potter even couldn't believe it.

"I am not," I replied stoutly. "He has yet to talk about Shannon though."

"I'm pretty sure he'll come around. After all, if he's asking you to come home to him, he might also mean your daughter. It wouldn't make sense otherwise."

"I agree. However, I have a theory, Colonel."

"I'm all ears."

"Hawkeye is angry."

"That's an understatement, Captain. As you can see, I am also not amused by the obvious."

"It's just another thing he cannot control," I continued to explain, rubbing my forehead when I heard the sarcasm. "In order to defend himself from the emotions he felt at losing Shannon, he had to deny it ever happened."

"Interesting," the colonel had to admit, "and very appropriate for Hawkeye. Do you want me to talk to him about it?"

"No," I decided quickly. "This is a personal issue between us. It'll be resolved sometime soon, I hope. It's going to take time, effort and energy."

"Have another scheme in mind?"

"I'm working on that too."

The colonel laughed. "Gotta admit it, Captain. You're almost as bad as Klinger."

I grinned, draining the last of my drink. "I'll take that as a compliment, Colonel."

Suddenly, Radar ran into the office, terrified. "Colonel, there's wounded in the compound. And Captain Pierce is back. He's been shot at!"

I felt the blood drain from my face. _Hawkeye had been shot at? How? Why? What happened? What can I do?_

"Get the camp going, Radar," the colonel ordered immediately, getting up at the same time I was. "Where's Hawkeye?"

"Helping some Korean soldier," Radar replied, rushing outside with us into the compound. "He said that the man helped him limp back to camp and that he was wounded himself and that he had to thank him and –"

"Easy, son," Colonel Potter cautioned as the announcement went for wounded and the camp rushed out in their usual way. "Just get on the bus and start tagging their belongings."

It was a small load that came in, just one bus with a lot of people with scratches, but we were all onboard anyway. As Radar sorted through guns, bags and other items that the wounded brought in, we were checking each one to prioritize. Of course, Frank decided that it was a good idea that he take the position and was soon arguing with BJ about who was going into Pre-Op first. I chimed in my two cents eventually (and was told to butt out by BJ), trying to find my way through the throngs of people to find Hawkeye. Eventually, I saw him, but he seemed too busy trying to staunch the blood of the South Korean soldier's wound, his arm a bloody banner.

Colonel Potter soon stopped me on my way through, holding my wrist in a vicelike grasp, even though his worry about me was unnecessary. "Take him into an exam room," he ordered, referring to Hawkeye. "It's nothing serious. Administer some local and finish him up. Afterward, get your butt into the OR, with or without him. I think Pierce would want to get back on his feet soon enough and you bucking isn't going to help him."

"And quite literally, Sir," I added, releasing his grip. I wasn't going to show him how I felt about the situation, frantic or not. "Thank you."

It was almost like the pathway opened for me and our eyes were only for each other. Hawkeye noticed me and grinned, waiting as I shuffled through the crowds and reached him. His right leg had been stretched out on his seat, his hands coated red and brown. I said nothing, listening to yet another argument over my head, this time between Frank, Colonel Potter and BJ. They said something about the solider who came in with Hawkeye, with Frank saying that the enemy gets treated last and BJ claiming that this was no enemy solider (even the colonel pointed out the uniform). Hawkeye chuckled when Frank realized that BJ was telling the truth and soon ordered an orderly (this time Klinger) to move the man into Pre-Op after our own men.

By then, we were alone. I offered my arm after I initially cleaned the wound, pulling Hawkeye up and half-carrying him into Pre-Op. We passed everyone else and soon was in an exam room, alone at long last as I deposited him on a table and he laid his leg for me to see. While we both said nothing and kept silent, Hawkeye still found it amusing that I was still taking care of him. I mean, it wasn't serious, although he's going to be in crutches for about a week and making me baby him. Regardless, Hawkeye was brave and didn't complain, even when I numbed the site and sterilized myself, readying for the minor surgery. When I began my work was when he spoke.

"You know, I never had a nurse love me so much that she'd so anything for me," Hawkeye began.

"Yes, yes, I know the rest." I sighed, recalling the words from long ago. "I am a nurse that would go over the top for little old you."

Hawkeye smiled broadly when I dug a little deeper for the bullet, cringing as he watched me work. "Were you bored without me?"

"Enough to write you a letter," I said, smiling despite myself. "You can read it later. Now, care to tell me what happened?"

"I don't want to bore you with the details."

"Oh, come on. I'm a nurse and a former spy for Colonel Flagg. I've heard everything."

"No, no, no. Kisses first, then words later."

"Your eyes tell me otherwise. The story is on your lips. Are you sure you don't have Irish blood in your like I do?"

"Some other time, when I feel I can make a tall tale short. Whistle me _Carmen_ with an Oreo in your mouth."

"Not this time, Hawkeye. We've got other things to worry about it."

"Like what?"

An explosion went off outside, some yards from the camp. It made me jump, almost losing the bullet I was trying to pull out, but I managed to get it without my shaking hands dropping it again. Finished, I closed everything up and looked at Hawkeye. He had watched me the whole time during the simple operation, betraying nothing more than gratitude after his original disgust (for what, I could not tell yet). He tried getting up after I bandaged his leg, but I vetoed that idea, instead running in the next room for some crutches. When I returned, he was ready to take them.

"Surgery?" I asked, about to follow through with my own orders.

"Got a wheelchair I can sit in?" Hawkeye volleyed.

I obliged Hawkeye, soon helping him scrub and dress and rolling him into the OR, crutches behind us. By then, I was ready myself and would be assisting him since Margaret had not assigned me anyone since the session began. Thankfully before my shift, I would only deal with one patient. The others had superficial wounds and the last five only needed surgery. Hawkeye grabbed the final patient and we were about to start the familiar process when Frank noticed us.

"Colonel, it's against regulations to have a man in a wheelchair in surgery!" Frank whined in a tone that even made Margaret wince. "I will not work under these conditions!"

"Can it, Major," the colonel ordered from his table.

"But, Sir, Pierce and Morrison cannot –"

"That was an order, Major, unless, you've mistaken my eagle for a couple of bars."

I had to snicker. Margaret heard my out of place response and was about to issue out a punishment when Colonel Potter ordered her to his table to switch out the nurse since his had fainted from the amputation he had to do. While screeching about being professional at the woman who could no longer help, I still received an evil eye from Margaret, promising me something later. I had duty with Frank that night, which I personally considered to be enough of a penalty for now, with or without their cooling romance.

Nevertheless, the show had to go on. While Hawkeye and I performed the first of many feats (one of them whispering silly nothings in each other's ears as we worked), we waited out the next storm. The shelling had continued in earnest, smacking right into us and the mine field. It was going to be one of those days, I figured, one in which the odds were stacked against us and we had to work around the clock to ensure everyone's safety.

By the end of the shift, I had to be in Post-Op with Ferret Face himself. However, Hawkeye wanted to be wheeled around and wished to stay with me. I obliged him, taking him with me and situating him next to me by the desk. After I did my rounds with Frank and boarded up the windows with Klinger, Zale and Radar (they had long since been destroyed), I sat back down again, winded from the work. When I pulled some paperwork out from a drawer and began a long list of reports, Hawkeye stopped me.

"Watch," he mouthed to me, his black and white head motioning to Frank. As we waited in anxious anticipation (for I knew there was a prank to be had to break the tension), we observed Frank casually going to the door and opening it, whistling something outside.

_A mating call._ Frank was signaling to Margaret!

It took a breathless minute for the head nurse to come inside, hiding behind the curtains, her feet showing underneath. Frank took Margaret into his arms and started swinging her around with abandon, mindless that everyone could tell that the curtain was moving frantically. Then, when they stopped, we heard some puckering, most likely them kissing, and then something akin to a belt being pulled through its loops. Just before it got worse and I was sick to my stomach, the curtains dropped…and there were Frank and Margaret in the middle of Post-Op, dragging each other's clothes through their limbs.

A few simple quick moves turned everything back to normal. However, even after their last nighttime rendezvous, the two had hardly hid their emotions and had hardly gotten back at us for the love nest near the Motor Pool. Even from my critical eye did I see some dissatisfaction with Margaret though, even if she was happy to come when Frank called. She did not seem so passionate about her paramour anymore and the lack of interest in their so-called secret session did nothing to make her feel better. Hell, she didn't even blush!

"A final curtain call?" I asked Hawkeye, who sat as stoically as he could. He also was reaching for the back of my shirt, but that was beside the point.

"And no encores," Hawkeye replied. There wasn't much else he could say since he was now seeing the same thing I was.

I looked at Frank and Margaret again. While they pretended to be professionals and play their usual nurse and doctor roles, we all had to wonder. Ever since Colonel Potter had arrived, the two had been cooling their jets. They could no longer team up and be the Regular Army couple they used to be. This then made me think that Margaret's eyes might be wandering elsewhere and it wasn't Frank that drew fire in her heart. She no longer had someone in her corner, so she needed another.

_Who would it be?_ It sure as hell wasn't going to be someone in the camp. It would be outside of the 4077th where Margaret would find love…and soon be heartbroken.


	19. Mail Call!

The not-so fun thing about the cold is soldiers coming in with frostbite. The second is our own miserable selves. The last is usually asking when it would end and jumping for joy when spring comes and we can tan in the compound. However, even that comes at a disadvantage since next is summer and the Korean days in that season are hot and unbearable. I did not want to remember the year before, when Henry was alive and I was pregnant with Shannon, but I also did not want to return to the cold season when we were mourning for the former CO too.

Either way, the early days of March were very much horrible. After Frank was in charge for some days and then we pulled the ultimate prank on him at the morale-boosting Talent Show, things started slowing down and the news about the war seemed very dire and depressing. Even if Dean and his men had come back and we were back in business at Rosie's Bar, it had been a drag being in this war for almost two years now and without an end (or anyone protesting it) in sight. Even if I did not have a permanent place to call home really, Korea had been the worst experience out of my life. The only good that came out of it were the people and my daughter and even that was out of reach in those days.

Worst of all, the mail did not come for some weeks. I would write and write of many things, including the most graphic and bloody things (something I was sure Lorraine now was not appreciating), but nothing would come in return. Dean and his company were having the same problem as I've heard from Radar. One day, when my brother was back on base and off duty (and only around for two days), he prompted Father Mulcahy to come with him and off they went into a jeep. The next thing I knew, when evening fell and dinner was served, they came back…and with our bags of mail.

Hawkeye and I saw them come in, rushing to greet them when they arrived. "Is that what I think it is?" Hawkeye inquired as Father Mulcahy pulled out five large canvas bags.

"It is," Dean confirmed, taking out three more. "It's the mail!"

"Yay!" I yelled, hugging my brother, feeling his heavy weight sway from his side to mine.

Hawkeye even kissed the good Padre on the lips in celebration. "Sorry, Father," he said joyfully afterward, although he hardly meant it. "I was so overcome that I had to kiss the first person I saw."

"It's quite all right, Hawkeye," Father Mulcahy replied, hauling the bags over his shoulder. "The Lord works in mysterious ways…even going as far as having someone as bright as Major Morrison locate the mail."

"Hot damn! Is that what I think it is?" Colonel Potter came running from his office, Radar behind him. "Padre, you and Major Morrison deserve a silver star for this!"

"I wasn't _that_ brave, Sir," Dean said, walking towards the office. All of us followed him inside. "I mean, it was just a matter of heading to Seoul and going from there. A few heads had to roll, but that's the way the war bounces."

"Amen," Father Mulcahy answered fervently, almost like Dean's words were a prayer.

"That bad?" Colonel Potter was curious, cornering my brother by Radar's bed now.

"Let's just say my father had to pull a few favors," Dean explained, like it told the whole story. "And let me tell you, the man was not happy to be pulled from the bar today."

Colonel Potter nodded. "I see. Well, Radar, you and Father Mulcahy can divide and conquer. I am sure the natives will be a tad bit less restless tonight."

That didn't take too long since the pair knew all of us to be impatient about our mail. However, Colonel Potter was first, with several from his daughters, son-in-law and wife. Next was me and Hawkeye before Radar handed some to Father Mulcahy and Dean. My stack was larger than my own brother's, most of them from Bloomington. One of them was from Boston though and that was what interested me the most. It was from Trapper and it was thick with pictures.

I smiled. There was nothing better than for Trapper to recount to me what Shannon had been up to and why he allowed it to happen. Even though she was not even a year old, my daughter was a spitfire and loved to play and smile. She even had Trapper wrapped around her little pinky, but that was my honest opinion. Nonetheless, it would cheer me to no end to see my daughter through the black and white pictures that I came to love and to hear some news from the east coast.

"What did you get?" Hawkeye came to me, several letters in his hands. Most of them were from Maine and his Dad. One was in a handwriting I did not recognize and the last was the _Crabapple Cove Courier_.

"The usual." I held up the missives from Bloomington, hiding Trapper's (as I always did, so that Hawkeye did not have to hurt so much about the lack of farewell). "I'm wondering what I did wrong now with my mother now."

"Maybe she saw you dance in the pale of the moonlight with the devil."

"Or roasting before his kitchen stove."

"Naw, she couldn't have seen that…could she?"

"Jesus might have told her."

"Whispered in her ear?"

"Hush!" I looked to where Father Mulcahy was, but noted that he was not paying much attention. "We'll see. Come on. I'll share news if you do."

Hawkeye considered that a done deal. He took my arm and we walked back to the Swamp together. By then, the place had been cheerier. Nobody was aimlessly running into the tent to cause trouble and all was quiet. That alone was encouraging. In the meantime, when we realized how peaceful it was, Hawkeye and I settled in our respective seats (I was residing in the Swamp more and more and my things remained anyway) and we opened our letters. Hawkeye flapped the pages of his hometown paper too, reading out loud some of the hilarious happenings in Crabapple Cove, so much so that I never knew the locals were that colorful. I mean, he had told me some of the silliness that conspired there, but this past week had been unusual.

"Among the news today, the lobster cannery burned down," Hawkeye reported to me as I slipped a finger through the envelope addressed by my mother. "The men from Eddie's Bar and Grill came down to ensure that the fire did not spread."

"I thought it burnt down a year and a half ago," I pointed out, reading the twisted words Mom scribbled. It was hardly legible, which made me think that she was drinking again.

"It did," Hawkeye replied. "Somebody had to rebuild it and set it on fire again."

"Local kids?"

"Could have been the lobsters. They're pretty tricky."

I tossed the nearest pillow at Hawkeye, which happened to be BJ's (and something I'll be hearing about later). It missed his head by an inch. He was playfully annoyed, sticking his tongue out at me. I did the same back to him, even going as far as making provocative noises with it. Hawkeye and I then laughed together, heading back into our usual routine of comfort and familiarity. My responses from home weren't too bad. My mother believed every silly, lying word I said about Korea and even asked me about war news. It was the same in every other letter after that from her and much of it smeared with tears, but it was nonetheless a great thing not to have to deal with her moods, especially the religious.

Lorraine's words came next, most of them admonishing me about lying to my mother, telling her very graphic OR sessions and even warning me about the censors (since some of them came to the States with black marks and holes). She also told me about Bloomington and how things were going, the gardening she was starting with Janie and Molly and admiring how big Andrew was getting. She said nothing about Henry directly and the waterlogged letter I sent to her (something which relieved me) and only talked about how receptive people back home were about the war in Korea. They still called it a police action there, she wrote, and worse, nobody cared.

_Jeanie, nobody would ever acknowledge that there is something going on over there in Korea. Most people would not even bother checking to see where it is…how we're ruining ourselves being there…how the draft boards are filled with boys who might not come back…that alone hurts. Life goes on as it normally does and people complain about the silliness things. Yet, in some country far away from us, there are Communist forces shooting at ours._

It went on from there. She hardly touched on the subject of what I told her, although she did inquire about what else I did, in passing curious about how Frank and Margaret were faring and daring to ask about the process of getting patients from one place to the next. I could have easily drawn her a diagram to show how everyone was separated into categories, operated on and then their options from there, but that seemed too heavy for me to write about for now. I had seen too much death and I did not want to think about it as home beckoned to me and told me that things were going on as normally as they could…

By the time I finished Lorraine's huge correspondence mountain (which continued on into town gossip, my mother and even about her children's antics), I got to Trapper's single envelope, thick with news and pictures, I was sure. I opened it carefully, eying Hawkeye on the other end as he read another letter from his Dad (and hid something in his bag), and was rewarded with the wonderful bounty of black and white glossy photos I knew were there, all of them of Shannon alone. She was six months old at the time the camera took hold of her and she was more beautiful and charming than the last batch I received. As I scanned through Trapper's apologetic words (and his own news from home), I also went through each picture of Shannon I received.

It was enough to make me smile and cry at the same time. I was a proud mother and so far away from my daughter that my arms ached again. It was the same feeling I had when she first left me, bundled away when she was a week old and given to a nurse to bring back to the States. My lips quivered and my eyes watered as the pile diminished, each photo put carefully on a crate next to me, facedown to avoid confrontation with Hawkeye (for now). By the time I was finished, I looked up to see if he was there. He was all right, but his mouth was twitching from watching me go through moments we would never see together, pretending to be busy with his comforts from home.

"Do you want to –" I began.

"No, no," Hawkeye interrupted, pulling out a toy corncob pipe, leftover from the days when he and Trapper used to fool around and pretend to be the great general and his pipe stuffer. He held it with his lips, his tongue making it jump up and down and then allowed me a glimpse of his life. "Something from my cousin Dolly. Haven't heard from her in years."

"Isn't that Billy's older sister?"

"You bet your belly button it is."

"How is she?"

"Showcasing her interior decorative skills down in Portland. Those city people never have taste. They booed her off the stage."

"How far away is Portland from Crabapple Cove?"

"Down route six, head up to route one and you're passing through Bath, Brunswick and Freeport, go south some miles…maybe a few hours in the car."

Afterward, I allowed Hawkeye to rant on about the beauty of the seaside towns in southern Maine for some minutes before Frank and BJ entered with their mail, an action that disappointed me since I loved hearing about his home. He then stopped suddenly, pretending to be back in Dolly's letter and humming with the corncob pipe still in his mouth. Frank gave him a disgusted look, sitting on his cot and opening his wife's so-called loving missives. He was missing out on Margaret though and had been insufferable since she had left for Tokyo a few days before, all for medical conferences and to supposedly get him promoted to lieutenant colonel.

By then, I was so sucked into Trapper's latest letter, imagining the beautiful sands and forests of Crabapple Cove, that I did not notice that Hawkeye and Frank left the Swamp, bickering all the way out about General MacArthur and his pipe stuffer and who was doing what for the former general now. By then, BJ had moved in closer to me, taking a peek at the things I received. I said nothing, instead gathering up what I had of Shannon and handing it to him silently.

BJ went through each picture, whistling all the while. "She looks so much like Hawkeye," he commented, giving me his of Erin. "I can see his face in her. I can also see you in here too."

"I can see Hawkeye in Shannon as well," I replied, quickly studying Erin with the same eye BJ had for Shannon. She was a beauty, I can tell, with BJ's darker blonde hair and kind face. The rest seemed all Peg.

"You talk with Hawkeye yet?" BJ seemed curious and always had, putting his toe in the water each time the mail comes in and our kids show up on paper. "He disappeared pretty fast."

"Tried and failed," I admitted. The two of us handed each other back our sanity and sighed simultaneously. The three words usually explained everything – the interruptions, changes in topic and even leaving.

"He needs to get a grip on things," BJ observed. "You know, I can try talking to him."

The offer was always there, but I did not want to take it, especially from a person who Hawkeye considered to be his best friend. "Not yet," I said, thinking that I might ruin a friendship. "I need something that would make the whole thing hit home. Words are not coming through. Concrete evidence and managing to take steps forward might be the solution. We'll see what comes next."

"It would not be logical to take you and not Shannon."

"No, it would not, but this again might be his way of not dealing with it. To deny something means that it does not exist. Therefore, if he doesn't involve himself, he doesn't have to face the emotion that comes with losing someone so precious."

"Why do you make sense?"

"You're rubbing off on me. Now, when is Margaret coming back?"

BJ looked at me askew. "Come again?"

"I asked when Margaret is coming back," I repeated. "I'm tired of Frank acting up."

"Oh, that." BJ seemed relieved for some reason, perhaps thinking me insane to ask about a woman who's hated my guts since day one of being here. "A few days. By then, I'm sure Colonel Potter will send the next batch of people to the upcoming conferences. Margaret isn't staying too long."

"Yeah." I seemed downtrodden a little, tired of dealing with Frank and being too fara way from the things I always wished for.

The conversations petered out after that. A few minutes later, the two of us went back to our tasks. I was tired of being cooped up and wondered how Hawkeye fared with Frank (and also wanting to see if there was a private spot outside the camp), but I ran into Radar instead. Now, the company clerk had been in hiding since it was almost April Fool's Day and did not want to be caught in some prank. Already, there had been some nurses getting colder showers than usual, Frank's gun was going missing and even the patients were getting streamers and balloons popping out of oversized packages. It was all harmless and fun, even if somebody was getting the ultimate one later on down the road.

"Phone call for you, Sir," Radar announced to me as I tried going around him. I saw Hawkeye run into Post-Op and I was going to miss him.

"Oh, who is it now?" I was frustrated. Hawkeye even saw me and waved before his entry, but noting Radar before me made his dreams (as well as mine) go up in flames.

"Colonel Flagg, Sir. He's on the phone with Colonel Potter now."

"What about, Radar? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Yes, Sir, with Captain Pierce."

I groaned. "Radar, what is it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," the company clerk replied, bearing a grin that told me that he knew everything.

I sighed again. "Might as well take it. Lead the way."

Even though enemy fire had started up behind us again and Dean's men had gone running, I followed Radar to his space and waited for Colonel Potter to let up on the call so I could have a turn. I was not happy to be speaking with my former CO, but I had a feeling something was happening. Normally, Colonel Potter never talked with Flagg unless there was a reason. Since he was talking to me about going to Tokyo some time ago, the connections in my former spy-like mind went off. Bells went ringing, even if I told myself not to get my hopes up. Flagg must have had a more sinister reason to be contacting us and it wasn't for a party, mind you.

For all I know, Flagg could have orchestrated the brief firefight we were having outside. Hell, he could have worked out Colonel Bloodworth's schedule and is trying to make his numbers match up and get us the wounded that are always promised in each fight. In either case, my stomach wasn't taking much of it, flipping all the way around in disgust. Both of them liked to play Grim Reaper and none of them considered a human life to be worth anything except when they're following a certain way of life.

I gulped, waiting for the colonel to signal me in for the call. _This is going to be interesting…_


	20. Initial Springtime Trials

It had been a difficult ordeal and one that tested my relationship with Hawkeye to the maximum. When springtime came to Korea, it literally came with some heavy rain and more than a few bangs. First, the girls in the nurses' tent needed Hawkeye to relight their stove on one of the colder nights and it exploded right in his face. Now, waiting a week to see the results, I had to contend with my own raging emotions and put up the best front possible for Hawkeye. I had to admit that it was hard, but there were always ways to put a smile on my face, even for a blind man who tried his best to make the situation funny.

We all did our fair share that week to ensure that Hawkeye was comfortable and was never alone, me especially. Klinger was kind enough to get Hawkeye a duck whistle to blow into for attention. BJ and I swapped stories, describing the wet Korean scenery to Hawkeye as the days turned damp and chilly with the weather. Radar and Colonel Potter entertained him in the office, allowing Hawkeye to tell tall tales of Crabapple Cove and its lobster festivals, if only to see him a little saner. However, what interested us the most was Frank and his bets, which also tested a few waters.

Before the incident with the girls happened, we all thought we were dreaming when we heard the Armed Forces Radio play a game from Frank's end of the tent. However, as the week inched closer to the deadline when the bandages came off of Hawkeye's eyes, we were hearing hints from Frank that he knew more than he should have. Heavy wagers had been placed, despite Frank being against it in the first place, and he won a large sum of money. From then on, Hawkeye (even blind), BJ and I worked to get that money back for everyone and get old Ferret Face back in everyone's black book. It was a tough act when we hooked it up to his radio, but Frank ate it up and that was what mattered.

In the meantime, I had to contend with Major Malpractice himself, which was the third straw in this great trial. Two days before we found out if Hawkeye was permanently blinded, I found myself alone in the Swamp with Love, reading a letter to him from his Dad. Now, I had moved in little by little anyway and was enjoying being in the Swamp with the surgeons. BJ hardly minded, finding it hilarious that I took over the last bunk in the first place and played around like I was one of the guys. Hawkeye was extremely ecstatic of course, taking every opportunity he could to be with me.

By the time I was reading out loud to Hawkeye from his Dad about the lobsters being pulled in and the huge house being too empty without him, Frank had entered. He was very military when he came in, complete with full Army gear, helmet and gun. I snickered out loud, whispering in Hawkeye's ear about how silly Frank looked. Of course, I heard something back from Hawkeye about Frank not learning about what it means to be a human. That caught Frank's attention, his face contoured into something akin to annoyance and then rage. He slammed his helmet down against the floor and turned to us.

"You degenerates!" he yelled. "Even in a serious situation, you all have to make a joke about it."

"Can't be perfect, Frank," Hawkeye remarked, his hand searching for his yarn. I managed to find the fuzzy ball under his cot, handing it to him so that he had something tangible in his hands to play with and it wasn't me.

"Nobody can pass that bar," I added. "Maybe except you. Even then, you're a bumbling idiot."

Frank was highly incensed and that was saying it nicely. "Captain, we happen to be in a war zone! We all have to make sacrifices."

"We were?" I feigned confusion. "Did you hear that, Hawkeye? We're in a war zone!"

"I'm sure you made the most sacrifices for it, Frank," Hawkeye said, latching onto Frank's selfishness. "After all, you sacrificed your wife to make room for another woman, who happens to be bored with you."

"Why, you little –" Frank immediately got up and was about to jump on Hawkeye, but I got there first.

I don't know what happened afterward. The next thing I knew, I was laying outside in the mud with Frank underneath me, begging for mercy as my knees kept him pinned down. Two people had been pulling at me from behind and trying to get me off of Frank, but I kept shoving their efforts away and punching Frank wherever I could. Eventually, someone managed to get him away from me, but left him stranded in a muddy trench made by a jeep just as Colonel Potter came running with Radar to see what the commotion was about. By then, the damage had been done.

The next thing I knew, I was shivering in Colonel Potter's office, dripping mud on the floor. He refused me a seat, claiming that I was going to clean this all up anyway, and only paced behind his desk, hands behind his back. Nobody else was with me for defense, not even Dean. The colonel had also denied any requests for anyone to stand with me. Apparently, I was doing this alone.

"Sir –" I tried, trying to gauge the situation.

"Enough, Captain!" Colonel Potter was so pissed off, I saw a vein pop out and then throb on his forehead. "I am not through with you, but when I am, you won't be saying anything except 'Yes, Sir' and 'No, Sir'. I will get your mind so far back that you'll think you're in base training again!"

I shuddered. I didn't want to think of that time, stuck in a camp with other women and watching my life go by without wanting to lash out. I was so petulant then that I was doing KP (amongst other things) in the weeks I was in basic training. All and all, it was a horrible time, but there were reasons for the way I was. Nobody understood them then and it made my younger self worse.

After all, it was also a time in which I had just escaped from my mother and stepfather and the memories of being tormented, abused and manipulated were too fresh. The only way I could have expressed myself was through defiance and anger. The drill sergeant in charge of my group was always sweet on me, I can tell you that. He always assigned me the worst chores until I turned myself around…and went right to drinking. As soon as they assigned me as far away as I wanted to be from my mother and stepfather, I started running to gin as a balm to my tortured soul. I also used it as a way to try and forget the past, but that was another story for another day.

I remained silent for a while then. It was the best for the beast for calm himself before I spoke another word. However, in the ten minutes that it took for Colonel Potter to actually become that, I stood there without moving, feeling the mud cake the floor and then solidify into dust. When the CO decided that he was good and ready to talk to me, he sat down, but not before glaring at me with such exasperation that even I thought he would forgive me.

"Captain, I'll let you know what's in store for you if this sticks," Colonel Potter began severely. "Major Burns is writing up charges for assault on a superior officer and lack of military respect. That alone will make you stay for years in Leavenworth. With your record so spotty and your former CO about to send you to the stockade on one wrong move anyway, I think you need to tread a little more carefully."

"Sir, Major Burns was also trying to attack Hawkeye," I protested lightly, trying not to sound whiny.

"Uh-huh." The colonel frowned. "I see. The usual banter."

"He dove at Hawkeye and I was blinded," I admitted, wincing at the unintended pun. "I don't remember much else other than mud."

"You almost killed the man," Colonel Potter said, his voice rising in panic. "For a woman who doesn't use weapons and has a very sarcastic wit about her, you sure don't know how to use your head to stay _out _of trouble."

"You could have asked Dean that."

"Your brother isn't my concern except when he's working. _You_ are. So, from now on, Captain, you're staying away from Major Burns and bunking out of the Swamp. I'll work on getting him to level and drop the charges."

"You'd do that, Sir? Even ban me from the Swamp for a bit?"

"I can't see someone who's trying to squirm out from Colonel Flagg's thumb get screwed. Pardon my language."

"More than excused." I was elated, even if I had to deal with the nurses for a while (Kellye excluded). "Does this mean that I can still go to Tokyo with Major Keller, Dean and Hawkeye?"

The colonel sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yes, Captain. Dismissed!"

Grinning from ear to ear, I left, but not before cleaning up the mess I left behind with cleaning supplies handed to me by Radar. From there, I went to the Swamp for some clean clothes and then to the showers, to scrub everything away. When I returned to the Swamp, BJ and Hawkeye were talking about Lieutenant Tom Straw, a blind patient in Post-Op that Hawkeye had been talking to since the incident with the stove happened. Hawkeye wanted to see him before he left for the 121st Evac, so BJ and I guided him there. I only managed to not cry as the two sat down for the last time on the bed.

"Mr. Straw," BJ began as Hawkeye settled himself down on the bed.

"Yes?" Lieutenant Tom Straw seemed anxious since he was departing soon, but there was some intuitiveness in his voice, almost like wondering why BJ was here and knowing why.

"I have here Hawkeye Pierce, the new boy in your English class," BJ announced.

"Ah, yes, Pierce," Straw said, smiling underneath his bandages. "Third row, second seat, big mouth."

"The very same," Hawkeye replied, trying to make a joke before becoming serious. "How you doing, Tom?"

"Not very well," Straw allowed, his voice dropping low. "I tried to write a letter to my wife this morning. I only got as far as 'Dear Marilyn'."

"Try, 'Darling, I'm coming home'," Hawkeye suggested, glancing back in my general direction, almost to remind me that we were lucky that he was still alive. "She'll be thrilled."

"How thrilled will she be when I tell her the rest?"

"Don't sell her short."

Klinger soon entered Post-Op, coming up to me and BJ. "Captain, which one is Straw, T.S.?" he asked.

BJ pointed to the pair of blind men on the bed. Klinger entered the private circle carefully, taking Straw's hand and ensuring that he would not trip. However, before he left, Straw managed to get the final words in. He knew Hawkeye's circumstances and the two had been anxious for each other, but Straw was most certain he alone would be the one blinded for life and Hawkeye would live his normally. Promises had to be made.

"I'd like you to write to me, Hawkeye," Straw said before Klinger led him out.

"Only if you promise not to send the letters back corrected," Hawkeye replied, something that even made me chuckle despite the day I had.

"It's a deal."

"I really wanna know how things turn out for you."

"Thanks."

"Give my regards to Mill Valley," BJ called out as Straw departed to the waiting ambulance outside the doors.

By the time the farewells had been said and the tears dried before they slipped down unnoticed, I had to leave. BJ calmed Hawkeye enough down as they discussed what it was like to be on the edge of something so good and bad all at the same time. As I went into Radar's space, I heard Hawkeye talk of being part of the rain and even the thunder from this morning's rainstorm echoing into the foggy mountains around us. However, when Frank spoiled it and started his own fight with Hawkeye, I had to get Colonel Potter. Once I managed to get him to see Frank instigate something (and right on time too), the colonel shook his head. We reentered his office without Radar and whispered so that old Ferret Face could not hear.

"I see what you mean," Colonel Potter only said. "I'll make sure the charges are dropped. Stay in the Swamp."

"And Tokyo?" I was anxious for that.

"You can still go," the CO confirmed for the second time. "Stay out of trouble though, will you, Captain?"

"Of course!" I quickly hugged the colonel and kissed him on the forehead before leaving. By then though, I was not thinking of the upcoming moment of truth.

By the time I got to the Swamp, empty of all its occupants except for me, the reality hit me again in the face. When I collapsed onto my cot, I was in tears. The war wasn't supposed to last too long, they said, but it had dragged on for almost two years and running. If Hawkeye was blind, then he would go home and be worthless to himself. There was no such thing as a blind doctor who took house calls. He would rattle along like a lone pea in a pod, waiting for me to come home to him alive and living in a darkness that I could not see him thriving in, even if he was almost a different (and humbler) person because of it.

Indeed, it would take all of my strength to survive in the war after that. And who knew if I would be in Crabapple Cove then? Colonel Flagg may have thought of my schemes and even found a way to counter them. For all I know, I would never see Hawkeye again and he would live out his life without me, questioning what had happened and where I was. He might even think of why I even bothered to love him in the first place.

For a while, I laid in my misery, but it wasn't because my Love might be going home blinded. Hell, I did not care that Hawkeye was sightless. It was a challenge I would take on and without a doubt continue. However, seeing him again after the war was something I could not handle (although I'll be glad if he was discharged before I was). Useless crying did nothing to make it better. All it did not was make me worse and give me a headache.

Unhappy still, I went to the gin, pouring himself a large drink and gulping it down. I hiccupped softly and took another drink. By then, the buzz was putting the hurt in my head to rights and chasing away the blues. Satisfied, I waited for BJ and Hawkeye to return and to wait for the results. It was a short few days, but it seemed like forever had dragged on and our lives had been put on hold for such a suspenseful thing.

But two days later, when those bandages came off and Hawkeye's sight was restored to him, I didn't know how to feel. I know that I rushed to him and hugged him, kissing him multiple times and everyone looked on and clapped, happy to see the chief surgeon whole again. However, when the results of the baseball game came over the PA next and Frank protested, many people were angry and chased Major Malpractice out of Post-Op. While BJ, Hawkeye and I watched through a window, Frank was running away from a riot that demanded more than their money back.

Once BJ left us (amused that Frank got his due), Hawkeye took my hand and pulled me into a dancing position. The PA was playing a few songs from Armed Forces Radio and he wanted me to rejoice with him. I was in no mood for romance, holding my breath the way I did for a week, but I allowed the music to roll over us and pull us away from Post-Op and the most anticipated scene of the war so far.

_They try to tell us we're too young,  
Too young to really be in love.  
They say that love's a word,  
A word we've only heard,  
But can't begin to know what the meaning of._

_And yet, we're not too young to know  
This love will last though years may go.  
And then some day they may recall  
We were not too young at all…_

* * *

**Lyrics are from the Nat King Cole song "Too Young".**


	21. Different Engagements

And so, in the beginning of a drier April (with the threat of more rain to come), we were preparing to go to Tokyo. After Margaret's rather surprising announcement of her engagement with Colonel Donald Penobscott, who she just met while she was out of Korea, Colonel Potter finally got his way (and cautioned her in-between the madness). In the meantime, we all had to contend with Frank in the Swamp, who was a clucking chicken after his one and only love in Korea had been taken away by an unmarried colonel. Worse, we had to grind our teeth in irritation as Margaret rubbed it in about her Donald.

I didn't think the last OR session before departing temporarily from the hellhole, where Frank stabbed Margaret with a scalpel, helped the situation any. She was boasting about Donald's muscles and how he was lifting her in a chair (as well as another woman sitting) and without effort. Hawkeye even had a few words with her outside about it, claiming later to me (as we drank without Frank around) that she was insufferable and did not understand how she was hurting Major Malpractice.

"Since when have you ever given two hoots about Frank Burns?" Margaret asked Hawkeye while he was tending to her tiny cut. It was a major thing in the OR, but nonetheless it was a quick break and one that got them to talk honestly.

"It's one hoot," Hawkeye corrected as he poured the alcohol vigorously on her finger. "I just started."

"You've given him a few swift kicks yourself," the chief nurse pointed out.

Hawkeye would not be blamed for something he did not do and I did not fault for him snapping at Margaret. "But never when he was down, only when he wasn't looking."

And I can say how pissed off Hawkeye was when he told me and BJ this in the Swamp. We had been so drunk to begin with and had hardly begun our fun and games when he recounted the conversation. BJ added that he should have admitted to Margaret that we have pranked Frank when he wasn't looking, but Hawkeye said that it wasn't the point. We had _never_ done anything to Frank that merited him extracting the type of revenge he did to Margaret.

That point I could concede with (and drink to) and could not argue, only allowing BJ and Hawkeye to fight over the moral points of dealing with Ferret Face. I was fed up with the finer points to begin with. I only wanted to let bygones be bygones and just let the war pass by me. I knew what was at stake with Margaret. I just did not feel like sharing.

In any case, I did not want to think of those struggles and instead focused on the positive side of life (and the many eggs we were sure to have because of Frank). After all, our outgoing party to Japan consisted of myself, Dean, Hawkeye and Major Greg Keller (a minion of Flagg, but he was on my side and I could manipulate him at any time). We were supposed to go to the next set of medical conferences there (with Colonel Potter and Margaret begging for notes) and to come back fully prepared for the next meeting. There was only so much that Margaret could do and with her pleasure-loving self always wanting more than work with her colonel, Colonel Potter had to rein her in somehow.

However, he had a few words before Klinger drove us to Kimpo on that damp morning. "Make sure Klinger gets back," he cautioned to me and Hawkeye. "I can't have him going AWOL again."

"You can keep me on a tight leash, Sir, but I am Toledo bound, for there cannot be a place like home," Klinger declared. This time, he was dressed up as Dorothy (a repeat from months ago), but his hot air balloon that had earlier entertained us had to be deflated by the MPs. They would be following us on the way to the airport anyway.

"I cannot control him after we leave for the flight," I protested.

"That's what the people with guns are for," Hawkeye pointed out.

"I can stay behind, Colonel, and make sure Corporal Klinger gets back to his unit," Greg offered from the other jeep, taking out his own sidearm. I was not pleased to see it (neither was Hawkeye), but we had to follow Flagg's orders somehow and not allow Greg to stay behind. There was only so many loopholes we had and Greg was one I could not compromise on.

Colonel Potter shook his head. "No, no, Major. Your orders are clear. Stick with Captain Morrison and make sure she doesn't pose a larger security risk than Colonel Flagg is suggesting. Can't have her communicating with the Russians, you know."

The last bit was a joke and we had to chuckle. Colonel Potter knew that I was not going to commit treason and was hardly one to consort with the enemy. However, in order to get what he wanted, he had to contend with the colonel who calls himself "The Wind" and have Major Keller come along for the trip and get bored at the conventions. I mean, Greg normally did not mind, even if he declared that medical things would put him to sleep. He liked tagging along with my adventures, especially after my former (and dead) fiancé Falk and I pulled a prank on him and made him run over West Germany for someone (and never find them). Here in Korea, he found our company light and a relief after so much paperwork. He wasn't a heavy drinker, but I'll let Dean and Hawkeye find out later.

Greg put his gun away, annoyed that Colonel Potter denied him. "Don't say I didn't proposition. Now, when are we leaving?"

"Hopefully now," I replied cheerfully and wistfully.

"You were never one for patience," Dean said from his front passenger seat. He even glared at Hawkeye, implying the same to him.

"Am _so_!" I punched Dean's shoulder from behind.

"Who said we had patients?" Hawkeye asked.

"To where no place is like home!" Klinger yelled as a signal, turning on the jeep and hauling us away before Margaret could come up and give me more last-minute instructions. The corporal saw her coming and pressed on the gas before she could harass us.

I watched as Greg and the MPs followed closely behind us. I didn't think Colonel Potter was taking any chances with Klinger (as Colonel Flagg was with me), considering all of the escape plans he had schemed and in so short of a time as well. In either way, those fun incidents I recalled were not a comfort throughout our trip to Kimpo. All this ride reminded me of was Henry and how his last journey to that fateful place was to his death…him and many more who had flown with him.

It was a horrible thought and one that I could not shake away as we gave the appropriate people our baggage and paperwork and boarded the plane, Greg and Dean behind us in a flash. From our window seat after settling, I saw Klinger's jeep being directed by the head MP to a parking spot. He then took over the wheel as the crossdressing corporal scooted over to the passenger side and frowned, his arms crossed as another escape plan hit the dirt. Indeed, Klinger did not appear that he was happy to release control, but he did wave a farewell at us as our ride took to the skies and headed towards Japan.

Honestly, I could not remember our outing skyward. I curled up with Hawkeye and slept next to him, my head on his shoulder. It was a restorative rest that I had not achieved since before coming to Korea and one that I woke up from with alarm, thinking that there was wounded when there wasn't. I went back to sleep immediately when I received a kiss from Hawkeye, reassured that we had no work to do.

The next thing I knew, we were landing in Tokyo and Greg was shaking me awake from his seat behind us, Dean sleepily shoving himself into the aisle. When the plane stopped and we were informed to file out, the four of us exited and were soon waving down a bicyclist to take us to our lodging, the Imperial Hotel. Dean and Greg took on one driver and Hawkeye and I flagged down another. Nothing unusual happened, only seeing the excitement that Tokyo had to offer. It interested me, seeing it fully for the first time, and I could not take my eyes away from the colorful whirls.

Immediately after we were ushered into our residence, we checked in and found our rooms. Hawkeye and I played married in front of the other more distinguished guests even though I did not have a ring on my left hand and wasn't showing off like I had seen all other married women do (even my mother was proud enough to admit three marriages and one of them a divorce). Greg and Dean bunked together like they were the best of friends and were chatting away, shoving each other and laughing like teenagers. Indeed, I had missed that the two bonded on the ride here and had been bantering back and forth before Dean's quick nap. For some reason, all of the doubts that gnawed at me before slipped away. This vacation was going to be ok.

Our first conference was not until later this evening, when the medical personnel and other interested parties were to be gathered down the road in a hall designated for the purpose. It was supposed to be concerning triage methods, something that interested me greatly. Although Hawkeye pretended to be bored about it (he threatened to nap during the lecture), he did hear that cocktails, food and other refreshments were going to be served. That alone got his attention, which proved promising, and would ensure that he would be awake for part of the time anyway.

As Hawkeye and I had our room unlocked and the bellhop was bringing up our few bags (two of them included were medical supplies in case of an emergency), Dean called out that he was starting a poker game in his room in an hour since his pay came in the day before and he was eager as ever to instigate a good few rounds. Greg chimed in that he was feeling like a shark today and that I had better watch my pay or else he'll own that and much more, including my honor.

"Good Sir, I do not think you've had the pleasure of meeting the man who truly stole that," I said gallantly, joking as usual when the key took us to a treasure trove of privacy. "Right here with us is Sir Benjamin Franklin Pierce, also known as Sir Hawkeye, champion of the gin drinking and mixing and maker of all gleeful pleasure and frivolous excitement."

Hawkeye wiggled a salute, thumb on nose and pinkie wagging the most. "I have gone through acres of wild farmland and slain thousands of ogres and dragons to find this fair maiden –"

"Can it, Hawkeye," Dean interrupted with a grin. He wanted to laugh, but he was trying so hard to be serious. "My sister was no virgin when she met you and most certainly is no maiden. She'll even growl if you call her a lady too"

Greg snickered. Dean was right though. I hated being called a lady and was a tomboy when I was younger. Even now, I will roll up my sleeves and get dirty. It was part of my job all and all and I never cringed from it nor did I ever back away. No, even if this was a different animal than I ever dealt with, death was no stranger to me. War was and it was now walking hand-in-hand with us as we attempted to escape its grip and remember that we were once peaceful people who did not think Korea ever existed.

As soon as Hawkeye and I managed to get inside with a few giggles and shut the door behind us, we were relieved and that was saying a lot since it was the most visible of our emotions. I don't think he knew what to say. I didn't either. All I could comprehend was that we were alone, nobody was going to bother us anytime soon and that my clothes were getting way too uncomfortable. Dressed as we were in our formal attire, I don't think we could have waited any longer.

Within seconds, we were undressed and the door was locked good and tight, protesting against our ministrations and reassurances. Not even a minute passed and we were in the bed, exploring each other like we never had before and taking advantage of it. Half an hour later and counting down to the poker game, we were in bed naked, the sheet and pillows quite disturbed and ruffled and covering our dirty deed. We were a tangled mess, our arms wrapped around each other in a sweaty embrace, ignoring the urgent knocks on the door. Many of the hotel employees wondered if we wanted food or beverages. Eventually, after Hawkeye yelled at them to go away for the millionth time, I heard my twin chase them away.

Cuddling normally did not happen. Oddly enough, even though Hawkeye and I always had quick embraces and ran, I was enjoying this. I think he was too, for all of the moaning and groaning he was doing about not being washed properly and having to be professional at the ungodly hour of six in the evening. After too much complaining, I reached for a pillow and hit him in the head with it. He volleyed quickly, beginning a fight that ended with feathers all over the room and a real call to the bellhops after we garbed ourselves properly, smiling behind our hands as we had to explain what happened in a garble of cut-off sentences and glances to each other that made us want to laugh all over again.

The manager luckily took the excuses that we laid them back into position and they popped open. He winked though, knowing what might have happened, and left us be. Dean, on the other hand, _had_ to run his mouth when they had left. As soon as my brother started in on how childish we were and that _he_ had to be the parent and supervise us, the game was on – pillows in hands. Fair was fair in the familiar rules we knew through our sibling rivalry and that only ended when Greg entered and called out for the poker game.

It was maybe two in the afternoon when we started, giving us three to play and one to ready ourselves and enter the licensed world of medicine. Settling into our room amidst the haphazard piles of clothes and other assorted items, Dean prepared a table and grabbed some chairs and we were off. Greg smoked a cigar and dealt the first hand, Dean grabbed a pack of cigarettes and lit up and Hawkeye and I supplied the gin that we snuck from the Swamp. From there, we played a few quiet rounds, which concluded with all of us getting an equal amount. When Greg suggested that the stakes get raised, we were on it like moths drawn to the flame. By four o'clock, we declared it a stalemate and quit.

By then, we were all bored. The same money had been passed around and the amounts still were the same. Greg and Dean counted their losses and departed, leaving Hawkeye and I more time than we dreamt of. While we did not have a thought about sex in the next two hours, we also felt that we should wait until after the conference. In any case, we _had_ to prove that we were serious, even if we were just a doctor and nurse from Korea who knew about the dangers of working under fire firsthand.

Hawkeye poured himself another drink and sat back, appraising the situation before asking me a random question. "Have you talked with Margaret yet?"

I was surprised that Hawkeye dared to inquire such a thing, especially since he knew of her hatred of me. "No, of course not! Why should I?"

"I don't know," Hawkeye replied, shrugging his shoulders in indifference. "I would have hoped she confined in someone of the same sex."

"She never did," I confirmed. "I heard about her engagement and I do not like it."

"I feel happy that she's found someone."

"It's a little too soon for my tastes."

"And what are we?"

"Not married and not caring about it, I would hope."

Hawkeye was a little hurt when I said that, but he hid it quickly. "Margaret was a little excited about her colonel…Donald?"

"Right." I nodded. "Donald Penobscott. That's about all I remember of him other than he was from West Point."

"I do feel that it is quite fast for a woman with no tastes."

"You cannot blame Frank all on her."

"Ok, I correct myself. It was her and her Regular Army manual that are to blame."

"Well, she had to feed Frank _something_."

Hawkeye hooted at that. "Jeanie, seriously though. What don't you like about it?"

I didn't want to explain this to Hawkeye like I had to Lorraine Blake in my last letter to her. I had a bad feeling about it. Margaret was heading to heartbreak and nobody was going to be there when she found out the hard way that Donald Penobscott was not the man for her and would leave her shattered. She would then realize how alone she was and that no man was going to fill that void in her heart that she always reserved for those who gave her favors and treated her as an item and not the woman she should be. She would finally be the one picking up the pieces of her broken spirit.

I shrugged my shoulders, checking the clock behind me and clucking as my head motioned to the ticking seconds. "I guess that some women do not like the man someone picks out for themselves. I have not yet met Margaret's fiancé and will try to reserve more judgement for when I do. We'll see how well it goes from there."

Hawkeye took the explanation at face value. He knew it wasn't the truth (that much I could discern), but it was the best he was going to get for the time being. Following my direction at the manmade concept of time, he groaned, remembering that we had to leave soon. Giving me a hand up from my seat, he gulped down the last of his gin with his spare hand and then began to robe himself in the itchy brown suit and place his costume jewelry crooked on the corners.

Shaking my head (because I could see he did it on purpose), I finished making myself more presentable, brushing my lush brownish hair as I eyed the mistakes. When I managed to create a shine with my hundred strokes and adjust my hair to perfection, I took the few minutes to fix Hawkeye's image. As I did, he fidgeted like a child, playing with my hands (slapped away so easily) and attempting in every way to stall. Even if his favorite things were waiting for him, he still had to no inclination to join me, wishing in every way to forget what he left behind in Korea.

I sighed, finalizing everything and hoping to keep my uniform on. _This is going to be a long evening…_

* * *

**Before I forget, credit needs to be placed. The previous chapter featured dialogue from the season 5 episode "Out of Sight, Out of Mind". This chapter has a small bit from "Margaret's Engagement".**


	22. Under the Fading Cherry Blossoms

We came here in anticipation for the joy of forgetfulness from the war we could not stand up for. In the sweet time here, we had experienced that and expected that it would last forever afterward, especially in a night and more full of romance. A few days before departing from the Land of the Rising Sun, we realized that we are going to be flying away as an engaged couple. It was a monkey wrench on a lot of our plans (most of the whirling around the move into Crabapple Cove and how small town life is), but nonetheless it was a very pleasant one and one I was willing to keep under wraps for the time being.

Hawkeye, in his sort of spontaneous and offhanded way, asked me to marry him…and I said yes. Even if I said it many times over, the answer will always be the same.

In any case, it was just one of many things that made this trip so delightful and the days immediately after the proposal interesting. It was a pretty long vacation from Korea anyway, but business was still business and playtime was still playtime. Honestly, I think we did more of the latter than anything else, even if we had attended several lectures, gotten thrown out of a few and drunk ourselves silly (and skinny dipping with the hotel manager calling Colonel Potter, but that was another story). Even our almost-nightly poker games did nothing to prove that we were adults living in a serious world. All it told me was that we had to tap into our inner child and play for all the world was worth…and still win a few hands too.

I have to add too that Greg got the worst of our silliness. Because he was a lightweight drinker and we all made fun of it for it (including tic-tac-toe games on his face, makeup painted on secret places and even hanging him from ceiling in bandages), his reports to Flagg had been pretty spotty and it was noted. We knew that The Wind was going to be swooping down on us. It left us with our hanging by ours toes, but that could not be helped as we laughed it away with our drinks. Flagg was a man of many disguises and all of them disgusting.

One night, we were making a late start to the bar from the last conference we attended and it annoyed us with their long hours, delayed dinner and shitty drinks and geishas that popped in for the officers (I had to nudge Hawkeye to ensure his eyes were not where they weren't supposed to be). In essence, all day had been dedicated to work, even at the end, and our souls yearned to run.

Greg most of all was perturbed by the turn of events even as he ushered us back to the hotel in a hurry, scratching his balding head as Hawkeye and I entered our room that fateful night to ready ourselves. After a contradiction of feelings throughout our long excursion and a night I could never forget, the next day had me and Hawkeye alone and an engaged couple.

For once, the two of us were walking the streets of Tokyo by ourselves…and without out chaperone, who Dean ensured was sleeping off drinks (and would be meeting us for another session at the bar tonight). It was to be our secret trip that I was sure Flagg would be on like a pregnant woman on cake (well, I was a magnet when I was carrying Shannon and only if I had the chance). Indeed, it was easy to spot him as the old man nearby, sitting on a bench reading a newspaper. All the while, his camera peeked over the rustling sports section, clicking away at the two of us, happy in our love. Hawkeye even picked me up a few times and twirled me around, but his supposed football injury bothered him and he had to put me down.

Finally, with Flagg so far away from us and not even attempting to spy, Hawkeye and I had to run with sheer abandonment. While I am sure that laziness prevented us from doing it often (although war had its way of making us exercise), we were breathlessly huffing and puffing by the end of the trail, our hands still entwined in sweaty fingers shaking in anticipation. We both felt it simultaneously, the excitement shimmering inside of us like a light calling for attention to the moth flying by. We had no patience in this newfound freedom. We only had each other.

Finally, after our facial expressions to each other explained an urge to rush back to the hotel, lock the bedroom and spend the afternoon together, Hawkeye led me to a bench under a cherry tree. The pink blossoms waved in the wind and then flew down to the ground as he sat me down, kneeling before me. His hands still locked themselves into mind, but this time, he was fingering the ring he placed on me.

_So, this is it. The true proposal instead of our conversation last night. Breathe, Jeanie, just breathe. This is Hawkeye Pierce. He's not that stupid. He knows what he's doing._

"Promise me something?" Hawkeye asked, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"It all depends on the favor," I replied. This could go in a million directions and all of it did not have to do with being serious. I knew this too well.

"Just say yes later," Hawkeye requested. "You don't have to be funny in front of your brother. Just say yes. We can be serious tomorrow, when we come back here."

"To what?" Again, nothing was directly mentioned and it was maddening to me. However, the prospect of an extra liberation was tantalizing. "What am I saying yes to?"

Hawkeye rolled the perfect-fitting ring around its bearing finger. The message was clear enough, made more so because he leaned in for a kiss that we both begged for. While his tongue probed for mine, I pulled him closer, wrapping my arms around his head as his went elsewhere, most notably to what was underneath the dress I was wearing.

Before it went too far, we had to separate with noise behind us in the bushes. Greg suddenly popped in from behind. Looking like hell (and that was being nice), he cleared his throat, sitting next to me as Hawkeye inched back and clenched his arms to his side. If I could gauge how Hawkeye felt at that moment, I would say agitated, irritated and utterly furious at this defeat.

The tryst was over. Understanding this silent gesture and cursing Flagg all the same, Greg led the trek back to the hotel, all the while lecturing us on why we could not leave without him and why Tokyo was no place for a woman to gallop around with sexual independence. I sighed as a reply, allowing Hawkeye to jump in and tune his finer points of why women are so hard to come by, especially good ones, and that being under the cherry blossoms was the best he was going to come by in a while.

Hungover and still on the line to dry, Greg only nodded his head, trying to be the adult when he clearly was laughing inside. However, after he deposited us back in our room without Flagg behind him (a surprise), he slammed our door shut. That aggravated his headache even more, the groaning from the other side pretty obvious. He then yelled about staying put unless we had someplace to go and not just a pretty spot in the park and stomped away. When we heard another one closed in loud protest, ours opened gently seconds later. It was Dean.

"I tried, Jeanie," Dean offered as a way to apologize, his head the only thing we saw. He was safer that way.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Don't worry about it. It was great while it lasted."

"See Flagg?"

"Who wouldn't? He was snapping pictures at the park."

"I thought he was the man selling balloons," Hawkeye chimed in.

"Or the bicyclist giving rides?" I suggested.

Dean shook his head. "Who knows? But it brings up a good question. Are we still going to the bar tonight?"

Hawkeye and I exchanged a look. "We can persuade Greg," I said carefully, "but I think we're in timeout right now."

"Leave it to me then," Dean vowed. "If I can't persuade him, then I'll let you know we all fucked up and we'll next figure out a way to make it up."

Hawkeye would have said something smart back at him (the words were on the tip of his tongue too), but my brother was faster and scrammed before he decided to get into it with my Love. With that click though, we had to wait. After all, it would be unseemly if Hawkeye and I decided to have some time in bed and Dean knocked with news, good or bad, and with all of the fooling around we were doing, this would be the best time for seriousness.

Instead, we had to pass the hours with harmless card games before darkness fell on the city of eternal light. That wasn't so bad, although we were getting so bored at the time dinner rolled around that we were contemplating stripping an article of clothing for every hand lost. When the hotel service was about to holler about a dinner menu, Dean reentered with a smile on his face. That was the signal. We were going out!

"Yay!" I yelled, jumping up from my seat and kissing my brother on the cheek.

"How did you do it?" Hawkeye asked, obviously relieved. I could not tell what for, but it most likely was that we could go to the bar and not because we were almost catch without clothes on.

"Hours of debating," Dean admitted, his hands behind his back and his feet shuffling against the carpeted floor. "I had to help Major Keller with his migraine with a remedy of my own and then talked to him about heading out. I had to explain that it was a necessary step for initiation and that Jeanie had to show off something."

"You told him." I was incredulous.

"Why wouldn't I?" Dean's grey eyes twinkled against the lamplight. "We needed a reason to celebrate anyway. Staying here is going to get us into more trouble than we need."

"Which is why we need to make more," Hawkeye proposed.

And that was what we did…sort of. Even with Greg complaining all the way (and eying a few geishas with caution, one of them being Flagg), we still had a good time. As all four of us took drinks, we sat at a table in the corner and mingled with some soldiers either going to leaving the war theater. It was a sad prospect to hear these people talk and then realize that they will undergo all of that action and never understand why they had to leave home.

Towards the end of the night, when we all were so slouched that we were hardly standing, Hawkeye tipped out of his chair and went to his knees. He was laughing hysterically, like what he was doing was funny as hell, and took my hands into his. Plucking his mother's ring off of my finger, he held it up for all to see, yelling that he had an announcement to make and that it was pretty damned important if he was being a fool about it.

"I wonder who really is being foolish," Dean whispered to Greg.

"Not him surely," Greg replied louder, his head nodding off into Neverland and only after a beer too.

Hawkeye put the ring back on my finger, where it had been sitting since he first proposed to me. "I have to ask again," he then said as a million eyes followed our motions. "Jeanette Karen Morrison…captain…companion…hell of a lover…will you marry me?"

Dean hooted so loud and was in stitches, so much so that he fell of his chair and did not care, his head hitting the wall. Greg did the same, except he managed to keep his seat, but his head tipped into the open pitcher of beer (which was half full, by the way) and plant face first into it. He drank it up of course and it was only a minute before he was out like a light once more. Me? Well, with a mountain of cheers around me and most of the women egging me on to say the positive answer, I had to remember the promise that Hawkeye extracted from me earlier in the day. Even if it wasn't so clear and mostly wordless, I had to say yes. I couldn't make myself do otherwise.

"Yes," I said, just because the face Hawkeye gave me was priceless. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Afterward, the place went wild. Drinks were called out and the bartender said they were all on his tab tonight, one round only. While Greg was pushed out of the pitcher and laid on the floor safely, Dean took to his chair once more and managed to down one more glass of sake. Hawkeye stood me up and kissed me openly, taking his drink and mine. He handed me the sake and we toasted each other, downing the wonderfully-made rice wine in one sip.

I could not remember much in the aftermath of that drinking session, but there was a few instances I could piece together a few things. One was that I allowed the women around us to admire the old ring in the pale light, most of them oohing and aahing the vines and flowers that made the design so perfect. A lot of them inquired if I was desperate enough to make money and sell it, seeing the value immediately, or if I would give them Hawkeye, promising that they would give him a good time before handing him back. I declined both offers, although I was sure if Hawkeye was lonely and did not have me around, he would have done it (although he would never admit it). After all, he still kept those damn nudist magazines he always sends for.

Another episode sent a shiver up my spine and one I could have chalked up to hallucination (God knows I had enough of them). In a small space of time, when everything and everyone slowed down and I noticed a lighted circle formed around me, there was suddenly an elderly Japanese woman standing across from me, folding her hands and bowing in greeting. I did the same, keeping my chilled hands together like muttering a prayer, even if nothing could come forth from my frozen lips.

Her dark eyes held mine for a minute, like it was just the two of us and that it was meant to be that way, and her hypnotics immobilized me and practically vaporized anyone who was supposed to be circling us. She smiled though, a sure sign that she was friendly and wished me well, but the way the atmosphere felt made me tingle, shivering with a deep coldness I knew from experiences in a land called Korea. Death was nearby. I could _feel_ it.

"Joy always comes before sorrow and eternity," the woman stated plainly.

I was confused, unable to discern words through my drunkenness. "Huh?"

"When the cherry blossoms fade, wither and die, when the winds blow a coldness that blinds you, will you understand what life is truly about," the woman continued.

"What life?" I questioned, my eyes searching for Hawkeye, Dean or even Greg. I needed reassurance, I was so scared of this woman now, and none of them were in sight. "What do you call this? Not living in the moment I've been waiting for when I began to love again? Not being the mother I wanted to be and continuing on the pathway of lechery and abandonment with the man I love, the same things I always followed from the moment I ran away from Illinois?"

"Death knows when one is about to lose someone," she concluded. Her eyes were soon very sympathetic and sad as she searched through me like invisible hands clenching the soul. "It might not be now, but soon, and when it comes, you need to be prepared."

Then, the moment was gone. I was back at the bar with everyone around me and a lot of congratulations being spoken. Hawkeye had been putting his arm around my shoulder like he had been the whole time and was chatting animatedly with someone from the 8063rd that he recalled seeing a few days ago, their chief surgeon who was the same rank as us. The captain was saying how happy he was for us and wished us the best, stating that we were so lucky that we met so far from home and were able to be together, unlike most couples in a time of war.

I nodded and pretended that I was listening, but my twin knew better. As soon as I was free from Hawkeye, I sat down next to Dean, noting that Greg was totally out and sleeping on the floor with a blanket over him. On the other hand, Dean was as sober as I've ever seen him and he glanced at me with grey eyes so large and hollow I could have made bowls out of them. He had an idea of that something happened, just not exactly _what_.

"Are you so sure about this?" he asked me, sipping his sake and trying to make heads and tails out of the situation I underwent.

"Are we ever sure about anything?" I volleyed. "Are we so sure that this would be the end or the beginning? That we are who we are only by the actions we make and not by fate alone?"

This quieted Dean for a minute. He then sucked himself right back into his drinking, leaving me to my scattered thoughts. I could not say what I felt otherwise. My senses soon forgot my bright surroundings. The next morning, when the warm sunshine hit my face, I knew that we had two days left until going back to Korea and the war. Dreaded as I was about it, I still savored the night before with relish, soon anticipating the time when Hawkeye and I could run off again…and be the people we wanted to be.


	23. The Return Home

The return back to Korea had been the hardest trip I've ever had to undergo, even with the present entertaining company I had. It was almost as feared as flying there from West Germany, but this time, I had a lot of good memories behind me, times of utter fun and happiness and notes on too many conferences to count. The good part ahead of us was that we went back in a time when the fighting had slowed to a snail's pace and the wounded were not so heavy in their numbers. Our sole jeep (with Dean, Hawkeye and myself) came back just in time for Colonel Potter to meet us near his office outside. Greg had disappeared some miles back with his vehicle when Hawkeye sped up and lost him on the road.

The colonel, I had to say, was not so pleased about our antics. Standing in attention alone and without Radar, hands behind his back, he glared at us with such fatherly seriousness that I almost laughed had he not given me his eye, stating plainly that it was not tolerated yet. Behind us, Dean bid us a quick farewell and dashed off to join his men in the Officers' Club. This left me and Hawkeye and our bags, waiting in anticipation as Colonel Potter stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"I take it you two had a good time in Tokyo?" he asked us stiffly.

This wasn't what I expected. "I…_guess_ so?" I was pretty hesitant, my right hand twirling the ring on my left.

"Hi," Hawkeye added shyly. He wiggled his fingers in a wave for added hilarity.

"I see." The colonel nodded evenly. "So, how is it that my top medical personnel headed to Tokyo, supposedly acting like professionals, and ended up being reported as very drunk and disorderly most nights?"

"We were left unsupervised?" Hawkeye suggested, bouncing the blame elsewhere, namely on our CO himself.

"I see," the colonel repeated. "So, my chief surgeon and the second ranking nurse in the camp come back with so much energy, even after a long journey from here to there and back again, and it leaves me wondering one thing after so much alcohol consumption happened."

"What's that, Colonel?" Even I was nervous about what he would bring on our heads. Colonel Potter's Regular Army stuff had yet to wear off and we were still running into it on occasion, this one possibly being one of them.

"How the hell did you go skinny dipping in a koi pond in the middle of Tokyo?" the colonel relaxed his features and began to laugh, his hands trying to hide his misdeed. "The manager told me you two kept hidden until General Barker and his wife strolled by. Hell's bells, Pierce, I would have thought by now that you needed to leave him alone!"

Hawkeye and I let down our guard and joined it except we were chuckling lightly for the close call. _That_ excursion was a tad bit interesting, I have to admit, and almost got us in the stockade had Flagg not distracted the illustrious couple in another way (the one thing he was good for). I didn't want to explain that to Colonel Potter though, especially the naked game we played before our swim, sneaking past employees that would have stopped us. I mean, Japan was indeed the Land of the Rising Sun, but it was also a place full of so much alcohol that even I could have drowned in it and died wanting less of it.

"How about we head home and say hi to the folks," I suggested instead, trying to dispel the awkward situation. Colonel Potter conceded that and headed back to his office, still muttering about our antics humorously.

Hawkeye and I then went to the Swamp, receiving a good reunion with Frank and BJ (if you want to call it that for the former). However, that dreaded evening was Hawkeye's shift with Nurse Johnson. He grumbled all the way about it being a sort of revenge from the colonel, but I ignored it and continued to read my latest from my mother (wincing all the way). It meant some time alone, even I would miss him, and without him interfering with any conversation I was having outside of his circle. That mean would Frank and BJ…if Ferret Face wanted to care enough to stick around and sneer at me. Lucky us, he decided to take another walk to the showers for a cold one, leaving me and BJ to the quiet the Swamp could never offer.

And that was the type of bond that BJ and I formed away from the world's view. He was a person of intelligent conversation who was in addition an easy listener, an advice-giver of all types, a competitive drinker and a good friend all the way around. I never wrote to him because it never seemed right and he would never understand it anyway. He felt the same with me. And with this mutual finding, we decided that talking face-to-face without the public was best.

There, within this sphere we now confronted, was the harmony we both craved. While I had yet to hear Margaret come across the compound to find me (and trust me, I was more terrified of that than Colonel Potter), I still anticipated talking with BJ and hoped that the head nurse would stay away. When a half hour passed and all we heard were the usual noises of the camp, we both relaxed. I put my mother's insanity aside and found a chair near BJ, leaning forward.

"I think I've heard enough stories from Colonel Potter about what you did," BJ began, "but he never mentioned the goodies. Did I hear right that Hawkeye asked you to marry him?"

"Yes," I confirmed. I was hesitant about showing off the ring, but BJ motioned for it so that he could see it. I held my hand out and it he took it to his lamplight.

He whistled too. "That's pretty old. Where did Hawkeye get it?"

"It was his mother's," I admitted.

BJ was startled, clenching my hand as his shocked eyes met my calm ones. "What? Are you joking?"

"I wish I was."

"He's serious then."

"Oddly enough. This is the least selfish thing he's ever done though."

"I agree. Damn."

"When has Hawkeye done anything normal though?"

"You're right." BJ released my hand. "That's a little out there, even for him."

"It's something he'll never talk much about and something he was willing to pull me inside. I should feel happy and honored all at once."

"But…?"

"_But_ I don't know how to feel about the concrete plans. What are they? What if one of us is discharged? What will we do then?"

"I think it'll come when it does. I think now is the best thing to concentrate on."

"You believe it's too soon."

It was a statement that surprised BJ a bit. He inclined back on his cot and had to work out the words he would say to me before speaking. "Some things are meant to be, Jeanie, while others are not, and timing is one thing that has yet to show itself. Hawkeye has to prove so many things and learn much more before he would fully understand what it is like to have a full time wife. And you? Well, I have to admit, you're not wife material."

I laughed because it was the truth. "You're right. I hardly cook, I have yet to clean this tent and I'm not too submissive. I've worked for so long on my own and had my own life after a tough situation that I cannot learn the stay-at-home concept. I'm hoping I will though. This place can drive you to want peace."

"'Patience is power. Patience is not an absence of action; rather is it "timing". It waits on the right time to act, for the right principles, and in the right way.'"

"Wouldn't Father Mulcahy be so proud?"

"Hey, Father Sheen wasn't a bad author. The Padre speaks highly of him."

"I've heard enough of Father Sheen and hear _The Catholic Hour_ enough times as a kid. Now, what's this about patience?"

BJ grinned. "You'll see. I guess that's what being a responsible partner is."

"You're pretty cryptic for someone who likes people being blunt."

"Somebody has to be. Now, got anything other than news from Trapper about Shannon?"

"Not yet."

BJ saw how sad I suddenly was about it and patted my shoulder. "Take a walk and clear your mind. We'll talk later."

He was right. Thinking about my daughter and the engagement's weight on my shoulders was pretty heavy. Nodding my head in agreement, I exited the Swamp, deciding that I would visit the Officers' Club. I normally did not. Rosie's Bar was my favorite spot and where most of the excitement was (not to mention, Dean and his men liked it there and it was fun picking on them all) and where it was the cheapest. However, I knew it was closed and the Marines were the only personnel allowed in. Best not to argue with that, we figured, and instead boasted of our own booze.

I entered the noisy and boisterous social club and found a seat in the far corner. A wounded man was sitting there alone, sipping away on his beer, and did not notice me. Klinger only came by to confirm my usual and went off to fulfill it. In the meantime, I studied the man before me. He was pretty fresh from the States, maybe a small handful of years younger than I was, and angry. I've seen many like him and usually allowed them to vent in their own time, but he was very different all the same. He was too quiet…and that alone was worrisome.

Klinger soon returned with my drink. "You're cut off after three, Captain," he mentioned casually, his nose motioning to Colonel Potter at the counter. "Orders are orders."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Klinger."

I wasn't going to argue orders. I'm sure the colonel was tired of us getting intoxicated all the time and was just watching out for me…even if it ruined my fun. I tried to make the best of it though. I mean, I had someone to keep me company, even if he wasn't especially talkative, and I had a reign of silence that would sustain me. It would keep my raging mind from rushing from here to Tokyo and all the way to Boston and back to Korea again at least.

After a glass of gin, I oddly wasn't feeling much better. I got up and placed my empty glass on the counter for Klinger and withdrew from the Officers' Club with that one marked on my tab. I didn't know my ultimate destination, but I calculated a walk and maybe a kiss from Hawkeye would make my night more complete. Smiling with the thought, I allowed my feet to randomly pick the steps and to lead me around in circles. I succeeded in many ways, soon finding another seat near the creek. There had been so many memories of this place, most of them overwhelming me and happening not even a year before, and that alone was enough to break the dam inside of me.

"Hey." I turned around to a voice and saw the wounded man from the Officers' Club. He joined me on the rock and dared to stick close to me, like a friend. "Aren't you a nurse here?"

"One of many," I replied, wiping away my tears.

"I haven't seen you around these parts."

"I was in Tokyo until earlier day. I came back this afternoon."

The man whistled, giving me his hand in amity and shaking when I gave him mine. "Lieutenant Dennis Wiley."

"Captain Jeanie Morrison." I broke my hand free of the greeting.

"What brings you out here, Captain?"

"You can call me Jeanie." I paused. "And to be honest, I can't tell you. What about you?"

"I'm preparing for the next battle."

"I take it you're going back to the Front Lines?"

"Yes. I wasn't badly wounded and was immediately canned for more bloody work. I'm moving out day after tomorrow."

"It sounds like you know we here in the rear are going to feel something bad pretty soon."

Wiley nodded. "It's no joke anymore. The fighting will pick up in a week and it's going to move and get around everyone very fast. Just be fortunate that you have an infantry unit nearby to gun them when the going gets worse."

I frowned. I did not like to imagine Dean and his men as killers (I personally had not seen them shot anyone), but the way Wiley put it, they were. In my heart, the truth rang out like a bell, but I never acknowledged it as reality. _Ever._ It was not part of my job. Mine was to assist in patching up wounded people and sending them back to where they needed to be, whether it was friend or foe, soldier or civilian. I did not care who they were, just as long as they could be helped.

"I suppose you're right," I admitted, feeling guilty about it. "I know a lot of units have the same protection. It is very lucky of us."

The silence between us was loud. Wiley did not know how to act in front of a woman older than he was and I was feeling awkward about having someone I hardly knew sit with me and talk about the war. What was worse was that he took my hand and squeezed it. It was worrisome to me because I thought him to be a little more than lonely, and I did not want to fall off the wagon. I prided myself in being faithful to Hawkeye. I never looked at another man and was never interested because I loved him as I did with Falk. However, the way this was going, I might have to fight him off of me.

"I don't mean to be forward, Jeanie," Wiley started, seeing my discomfort with his gesture and the defensiveness behind it, "but I haven't kissed a girl in over a year. Can you…you know, give me one so I can remember before leaving?"

I was visibly relieved, relaxing. "Is that all? Well, we're all out of practice here. One won't kill us."

We both weren't planning on something special. Just a quick smooch on the lips was enough and it left us satisfied and our friendship intact. However, even with holding hands afterward, it felt pretty nice knowing that there were still people out there that actually cared more about companionship and remembering a good time than taking advantage of someone, be it man or woman. On the other hand, there was always that one person who spied quietly and decided that following certain captains and her crowd around was a good idea.

"I knew it!" Frank jumped out from behind another boulder, waving around his camera. "I _knew_ it! A slut cheating on the camp's infamous stud! Ha!

I rolled my eyes. "Fuck off, Frank. It was a kiss between friends."

"From a man you just met?"

"Friends come in many forms, Major. You should know that."

Wiley was about to jump in and defend himself, but I shook my head. I didn't want him giving Frank any more ammo than he already had. Besides, Ferret Face easily twisted things around. Wiley did not need the added complication before he went back to the fighting.

"I'm telling Pierce!" Frank threatened, his tattletale tongue flapping empty threats that would do nothing for the major. "I'm telling on you!"

As Frank rushed to Post-Op, I had to mouth to Wiley to stay put. I then followed the major at a slower pace, timing my arrival so that I would appear to be Judas with thirty pieces of silver upon entry and in the end be Peter with the keys of heaven on the exit. Hawkeye would know the difference, but I was sure it would be juicy gossip by the time dawn came up. Whatever happened in the end though, Hawkeye would know me to be a true fiancée to him.

And indeed, it appeared that I was the betrayer when I entered Post-Op. Frank was rattling all of things I did to Hawkeye, leaving the kiss to Wiley for the end as I stood nearby and listened to the nonsense. He emphasized to Love that I was nothing more than a Jezebel who stabbed people in the back and would do anything to gain any advantage over anyone, even a prankster like Hawkeye.

To my mortification, Hawkeye was heeding to this garbage!

Hawkeye was even as serious as could be, eying me with distrust when he spotted me. "Is that so, Frank?" he asked Ferret Face when he concluded. "Jeanie here was cheating on me?"

"Yes, it is, Pierce," Frank confirmed with a gleeful and smug smile to his lipless mouth. "She even picked out her next victim."

I tried backing away and running from this macabre, but Hawkeye was quicker. His long stride took to me in seconds, his arms around me tightly and keeping me still. I did not want to struggle. The truth had to be said. Hawkeye deserved that much. Then again, he deserved better than Frank telling what I considered were lies, but that was another story. Right then and there, when I was thinking that I lost all of my hope, as his blue eyes looked into my grey ones, I saw that he wasn't taking it seriously. Winking, his head swiftly went back to Frank, all the while keeping me from laughing.

"Are you sure about that, Frank?" Hawkeye inquired, allowing Major Malpractice to believe that I was in trouble.

Frank was annoyed at having to repeat what he thought were facts. "Yes. Why do I need to repeat myself, Pierce?"

"Well, I'd thought to make a point," Hawkeye replied, now back to me. "I'll repeat myself and I hope you get the message. Jeanie Morrison has proven her worth in salt and more. That, and something else."

Frank felt there was something in store for him if he did not move away. Considering that anything could happen to him on the realization that he had been duped, he receded away from us, aiming for the doors that led to Radar's space. However, instead of facing a prank we did not plan, Frank bumped into something a little less conspicuous, but essential in a hospital all the same.

The upper piping from the stove Frank collided into came apart…and sprinkled its metal tubes and soot all over his head.


	24. Sadness and Surprise

After the sad news from home, life had to go on. I could not deal with my uncle's death and the subsequent letter attacks between my mother and aunt and had to look forward, seeking advice from Margaret about the new position she urged me to be promoted to. Meaning that I was in charge of the nurses when she was not around, it gave me responsibility I did not need and jealous eyes that would never take heed to my orders. In any case, it required training early in the morning and lasting for several hours and in a style that only Margaret could offer.

I could say that it wasn't _all_ unpleasant. Margaret allowed me to sleep in until after the sun came up on the on and off again weather, did not utter a word about my slumbering the Swamp and only used her best professionalism when handling the momentous task of making me more in control of a group of tired women. From the beginning, she was a little likable and was even kind to me, chatting during lunch or even inviting me for some coffee in her tent. All of it was businesslike so far and never brushed upon our horrid past, and it was pleasant. I enjoyed it more and more.

However, Kellye was a person I saw less and less of and that frightened me. She was truly my first female friend in this hellhole and I had neglected her in the face of love and events out of my control. She did not care though, even as we passed each other a few times stating that she was busy too and that she understood. However, one day changed it all and that was when we both realized how much we truly needed the other for support and comfort in the face of adversary.

One lunch, when Margaret got up to get some coffee for herself, she left me a spot swiftly filled by Kellye. I smiled to see my friend after so long, but that soon changed into a frown when I saw her state. She was a train wreck, her eyes red from crying and lack of sleep and her demeanor defeated and worn. My heart went out to her, the poor girl. I quietly asked what was wrong. It could not have been from home or else one of the other nurses would have come running for me. It obviously happened here.

"Do you remember Private Gomez?" she volleyed, her tone curt and so sharp that it cut through me.

I nodded evenly, trying to keep my cool and prevent gossip from running rampant. "The burn patient. He was hit by friendly fire with that napalm. What of him?"

"He died this morning."

"Oh, Kellye, I'm so sorry…"

"Captain Hunnicutt told me there was most likely no chance he'd survive to Tokyo. His burns were so severe, he nearly died on his way here. I was hoping though…"

"We all did, Kellye. We _all_ did."

The two of us remained quiet for a while, the seconds ticking away to signal Margaret's return. She was taking her sweet time at the moment. After getting her cup of lousy Joe, she bumped right into one of the enlisted men (Zale) and ripped him apart about the supplies she had been nagging him about for a week. While the two bickered for some minutes, the steam pouring out of more than just the coffee in her hands, Kellye and I studied the scene.

The world was still spinning, even after a patient came in and died on our watch. And he had been young, like so many that came through. He was eighteen years old, first time away from home, and he was off rushing the enemy when someone's bomb above his head was released early. The enemy was hit all right, but so was Private Gomez and everyone else in his unit who had been ordered forward. The private was the last remaining survivor of his regiment, marking its end with his passing.

It was enough to make me break down. I could not stand it. I've told myself that from the very beginning, when I kept seeing kids come in and out like a meat packing factory, their lives on the life once more when they run off. Then, with blow after blow behind us and the bloody slaughter continuing, I kept telling myself the same thing and that war could not be tolerated in my mind anymore. Now, with another one so close to our hearts dead, we lost another piece of ourselves. That alone was disconcerting in the least.

I put my hand over Kellye's, hoping that it would give her some small comfort, and felt her squeeze in return. She smiled wanly, a shadow of her former self, and even made it broader (even if it was superficial) when the enlisted men ganged up on Margaret and pulled a prank on her for bothering Zale. I had to do the same, laughing as the Mess Tent population came crashing down on Margaret with their merriment. The major, I had to say, was angry and shouted that throwing ages-old milk down the back of a wife-to-be was no laughing matter. That made the house come down harder.

By the time Colonel Potter entered and all went silent, Radar had come in with the mail. Luckily, it had been coming more often and brought so much grief and joy all at once, depending on the person. For me, it was both. I hated letters from my mother and aunt these days, unable to hold their heavy weight on my shoulders and sticking my heartache inside where it belonged. Otherwise, hearing from Lorraine or even Dean when he wasn't around was a pleasure and always broke the boredom in this place.

Indeed, Radar even gave Kellye and me a small stack each. I winced as we parted and dove into our sanity from home. Four had been from Mom, two from Aunt Mary and a pair from Lorraine and Trapper each (both thick with pictures). The one on the bottom was a little waterlogged and was stamped someplace in California. There was no name or return address, just mine, which made it all the more mysterious. Curiosity got to me. I had to open that first.

_April 25, 1952  
San Diego, California_

_Dearest Jeanie,_

_From the moment we parted in Tokyo, all I kept thinking about was you swell guys I miss all the time. Now that I am on my way home, the sights, smells and experiences in Korea have caught up to me. I can't adjust being here stateside, so I am traveling a bit before going home. I have enough money for touring at the clubs on the way, all of them making a trail forward to the lovely lady who I left at home._

_No, I didn't tell you about my wife, did I? I didn't like talking about her because she was so new and dear to me I could not share her. Her name is Linda Faulkner (Spaulding now and married just before I left). She and I had been steady in high school and married soon afterward. Nothing marred our happiness until Korea showed up and killed me. Now that I have time to make myself presentable to the missus, I can hopefully make Korea vanish from my mind and forever be just a nightmare._

_For you, I know, it goes on. However, I can still remember Tokyo, where we met at the bar and had a good time in your hotel room with Hawkeye. That we can concede was something we could look back on with a smile on our faces. The way the two of you showed your love, the comradery between us like old times and even drinking to remember old Henry Blake. What a hell we put ourselves through!_

_Do me a favor, Jeanie. Well, a few, I should say, before I close and get back onstage. First, finish that poem. It's most certainly a big something that I would be honored to sing again when it's finished. Second, say hi to everyone who matters. I know Frank wouldn't care, but at least Hawkeye and Hot Lips would. Lastly, go through with your engagement and marry Hawkeye._

_You must think I'm nuts to write that. Of course, you're both going to! However, it's not as easy as I am seeing it. Hawkeye is still a man who has a ways to go before he realizes what he is getting into. You, on the other hand, have more experiences than he had and have traveled more. You both had hard love lives and more than your fair share of heartbreak. However, even war can bring together the most caring people and break them apart too. Just get through the storm and remember that love and you'll be fine._

_Have to head out now, Jeanie. Write to me. Just send it to my mother's address out in Nebraska and she can forward it. She knows. I just want to surprise Linda hence me asking otherwise._

_Write, write, write, you hellcat of a friend!_

_Calvin – A Wondering Soul_

Behind the two page letter was an address for one Mrs. Nesbit Spaulding in Grand Island, Nebraska, confirming with me that the writer was a friend and a true on at that. I didn't think that the former Captain Calvin Spaulding would catch up to us and try to mend the fences that Frank and Margaret built between us and him. I would have thought that the one night we met was it and that it would be the last we saw of him. I guess he just proved us wrong.

It was a bandage over an old festering wound, but it would do for now. I could not have stayed depressed for much longer. The missive itself was merry and full of such hope that I was envious on the inside and that was the only negative one. In any case, everyone was cheered up with the mail and I could have joined in, no matter what I received. Margaret, now cleaned up, came over and was gushing about Donald again, something that made me and Kellye sick to our stomachs. Colonel Potter and Father Mulcahy then joined us with food and paper, chatting about their news.

Colonel Potter was sympathetic towards me, his head motioning to my pile of mail. "Anything from home?" he asked me, anticipating that the bad news from the other day did not carry into today.

"No," I confirmed. "Well, at least not that I've read. I'm sure there is, but I'll save it for later."

The colonel nodded. "Bad news is best savored for when you're alone anyway. Now, I have a suggestion from months ago for all of you at the round table and I need some feedback."

"What is it, Colonel?" Margaret, always on the ball, grinned in a way that I had not seen before. I chalked it up to Donald's letter and left it there.

"Well, Memorial Day is coming up and I was hoping we could get together for an old fashioned BBQ, courtesy of Captains Pierce, Morrison and Hunnicutt," the colonel explained, something I forgot we suggested over the last winter as a morale booster. "Father Mulcahy here tells me that the orphans are in need of some summer supplies and are willing to set up booths. We can make a picnic out of the event and have some games and races."

"That sounds like an excellent idea!" Kellye exclaimed, a little changed over this morning's events. I believed that she was forgetting Private Gomez for the moment on purpose, keeping him close to her heart. "What could we put together for them in the meantime though?"

"Blankets and pillows maybe, some beds," Father Mulcahy chimed in. "Some of the girls need new dresses and ummm…well, some underclothing for the older ones. The younger ones are getting the ones they outgrew and even those are getting a tad bit worn."

"Ok, so clothing and bedding. What else?" I was calculating items in my mind. I prayed that Margaret did not catch on.

"Toys maybe, but it has to be small," Father Mulcahy cautioned. "They would need to carry it if they had to leave unexpectedly."

"I'm not expecting to make a chest of them, but maybe something with meaning for each could be catered to the individual." I was thinking, my mind racing with all sorts of possibilities, especially since our idea from months ago now seemed a reality. "Father Mulcahy, what do you know about the children? Do they have any strong likes and dislikes?"

"I can ask Sister Theresa," the Padre replied. "I'm sure she can come up with something."

"And we can each make the toys for them!" Margaret was excited.

"And raise money for them and make the necessities in the meantime, if the Army allows us," Colonel Potter cautioned. "We'll work it out within the month. Now, about the picnic…"

"Announce it and see who is interested," Margaret offered. "I'm sure we all would be!"

The chatter then grew louder and happier from there. Finding a spot where I could escape a few minutes later, I gathered my mail and hardly-emptied tray and went outside, tossing the food in the garbage can and the tray on a table left outside by Klinger. Hugging the envelopes to my chest tightly, I made my way to the Swamp, settling down on my cot and really reading the contents of each one. When I finished, I did not want to know anymore. It was too hefty of a price of pay for being so far away and it saddened me worse than hearing about Private Gomez.

When Hawkeye entered an hour later, he found me laying on my cot and staring at the green ceiling. He didn't ask me what was wrong for he knew better and would not get an answer from me anyway. Facial expressions always passed between us and this episode was no different. Love expressed that he was concerned and I shook it away with a wave of a hand. Nothing unusual happened in this exchange, but it did prompt him to take a seat on his own bed.

"Anything good?" he asked me instead for the public's sake, popping open a package from Crabapple Cove.

"Depends," I answered, playing along with the game. "What did you get from home?"

"Got some rain gear from home. Dolly sent it."

"She seems to think of you often."

"Somebody there does, not just Dad. She takes the edge off of his worry."

"You miss her too?"

I never asked Hawkeye about his other family members unless he gives it out freely. Dolly and Billy had been sore subjects as far as I could see and ones that he did not like to talk about, the latter cousin more than the former. I could not tell why, but I was not opening that can of worms just yet. I was content in allowing a piece of home to come to this place we never loved.

"Sometimes," Hawkeye admitted, peeling away tape and newspapers to pull out the rest of the contents in the box. "Hey, she sent something for you too!"

Immediately, Hawkeye pulled out some clothing and tossed it to my end of the tent. I got up and grabbed it, rescuing it from a pile of dirty laundry, seeing that indeed, Hawkeye's cousin thought of me too. It was a few sizes too big, but the dresses, panty hose and shoes would work out fine. Even the rain gear was more equipped for a male, but it was warm and comfortable nonetheless (as if the Army-issued ones weren't, the thin things that they were). I only had to wonder who sent her the clothing size information and, noting the smile on Hawkeye's face, knew exactly.

"That was very nice of her," I commented, folding the items and putting them away in my footlocker. "I'm sure she'll appreciate the thanks. Does she know how bad the weather is here?"

"Yes," Hawkeye admitted with a twinkle in his eyes. "She reads up on countries and climates when they involve the family. It took her some time to find something about Korea."

"After two years, she finally figured it out?"

"You have to give her credit. There aren't too many reference sections in Maine libraries because it's all washed up. They all disappeared like Houdini."

"How far did she have to travel then?"

"To find anything about Korea? I think she said she went to Harvard, but they barred her entry until she enticed a student to find out for her."

I laughed, shaking away the day's events, including Kellye's sadness and my own. "Truly? She had to _bribe_ a student to research for her?"

Hawkeye shrugged his shoulders. "I can't say I blamed her."

"I don't either." I wanted to change the subject, jumping to the good news Colonel Potter gave me in the Mess Tent. "Hey, do you remember when you, me and BJ petitioned for a BBQ?"

"After our weenie roast? How could I forget?"

"Well, the colonel said he was thinking Memorial Day."

Hawkeye stopped his rummaging in the box Dolly sent and looked at me like lightning struck him and he was still awe-struck by the assault. "Seriously? Potter said we could have a BBQ?"

"Yes." With the atmosphere in the tent changed, even I had to put aside all thoughts of glum and death. "I had a few ideas about it, but I want to run them by BJ first. Then, we need to find Radar and start the request for supplies."

"I quite agree." Hawkeye set aside everything and stood up, offering me his arm. "Come, Love. I think we have a hard task before us. We have to begin before it topples us from our throne."


	25. Roasting by the Fire

_May 1, 1952  
Dallas, Texas_

_My dearest poetess Jeanie,_

_How are things? How goes the fight in Korea? How is your daughter? Trapper? Hawkeye? Hot Lips? Frank? Kellye? Radar? Anyone I miss?_

_Oh, there is so much I want to tell you, Jeanie, but it has to be quick, like most letters I am sending to you, since I am waiting to get onstage. Too many questions from you and so few answers from me! Well, first thing's first. I am almost home. I want to travel a few more days and then wrap myself in Linda's arms and sleep for a week with her! I'm sure you understand the need. I mean, hearing from you that you missed Hawkeye and vice versa makes me believe that love conquers all._

_I received your last letter (I would hope!) from Mom earlier today, which was a surprise and a pleasure. Mail went quicker than I expected, which was a blessing in disguise. I do have to admit that you're a better writer than you were before, that your plans for a better late spring holiday cookout are great and that getting rid of those magazines of Hawkeye's would break his heart. I think about covers everything._

_I can elaborate on the magazine issue for a minute here before I perform. Men like…well, they like fantasies. And there are some, like Hawkeye, who have habits that die hard, especially since he was always chasing a woman to replace the one he could never find. I don't believe you can break this routine of his and I am not encouraging you to try. Leave him to his ladies on paper. At least you know that you're the one for him and he won't look at another and that he'll have ideas for dates for you. Imagine him and Hot Lips together! Can you picture it?_

_Oops, there's the announcement. I'll send something more when I'm on the bus, Jeanie. Give my love to everyone who matters, as always, and keep strong. You can get through this, like we all did, and come home soon._

_Love, Calvin_

I smiled, thinking on this letter as I headed to a gathering of the foes. Another missive from Calvin Spaulding came to me quicker than the last and kept me quite strong and on my toes as the Swamp's noises ceased to exist and the camp's grew louder, worse when I came closer to the Mess Tent. Other notes from him had come up here and there, mostly from the different places he decided to stop in before going home, and that last scrawl had gotten me through the last hectic weeks of May. Up to that moment, I was readying myself for the BBQ that was sure to be a blast…and a bigger headache.

BJ, Hawkeye and I had our plans and all of them were approved by Colonel Potter, but with the understanding that none of them step on anybody's big GI toes (and their egos). However, the worst part was that Frank and Margaret had to be in on the scheming and they obstructed everything we wanted except for the American flags on every bedside idea. Their more conservative ideas always countered what we thought to be rational, fun and pretty engaging, enough to make us forget where we are and what we did for a living until we went home.

Granted, we had to be polite to them as they were with each other (although Frank's beady eyes always imagined themselves undressing old Hot Lips) and we had to be professionals when Colonel Potter was around. All and all though, in-between the ordering and arguing madness, it was a little fun pranking them individually or cracking inappropriate jokes even as Margaret exclaimed in feigned shock.

Something that held us back was the food and decorations. Radar had been working throughout the month to get the supplies and had no luck, especially since all M*A*S*H units were on high alert (Dean's group of brave men disappearing back north) and all of the brass was receiving top everything back in the rear, from food, alcohol, etc. It angered us captains to no end (with Margaret and Frank egging on that it was all fair in the game of war), leaving us with hardly anything to show for the upcoming holiday and many mad customers who wanted more than their fair share of the pleasure. Our last meeting with the duo on the Friday before our scheduled feast did not help matters either, which was what I walked into as Calvin's letter remained in my pocket.

"What did I tell you?" Margaret asked when Hawkeye, BJ and I admitted that nothing had moved along. "The Army isn't for _fun_. We are an institution that motivates and promotes structure and integrity."

"I quite agree with Major Houlihan," Frank added. He tried slipping a hand her way, but she swatted it away. "We should _not_ have planned this little…party. It would have been best to stand and salute before our flag for an hour ceremony and get on with our duties."

"Frank, you always stood and saluted with Margaret around, no matter what the hour," Hawkeye pointed out.

"Or the occasion and the dress code," BJ added.

This grew into another row. For once, I did not add to it. I wasn't going so low this time as to impugn on Margaret's dignity (or the lack thereof sometimes) and Frank's insensitivity. While it was entertaining to the people in the Mess Tent, most of whom listened with glee as Hawkeye and Frank rounded out their highly unintelligent and childish debates, I exited to avoid being part of the scuttlebutt. On my way out though, I ran right into Radar.

"Sir," he stuttered, saluting me even though I asked him not to. "Sir, I've got some –"

I was in no mood for the shenanigans this time, not even from the company clerk. "What?" I interrupted vulgarly. "What do you have?"

Radar was taken aback, saluting like crazy until my facial features relaxed. When they did, he forced himself to talk. "Sir – Captain – I mean, Ma'am, I've got them."

"Got…_what_?"

"I have them. The supplies you ordered? I've got them coming here by jeep tomorrow. Igor and I will pick them up from Seoul."

"And whatever else Majors Burns and Houlihan asked for?"

"Also in the boxes. The American flags with all the forty-eight stars, the red flowers, the coal for the BBQ and even the meat and bread thingees for the hamburgers and hot dogs…it's all there. It'll fit in a jeep and be here before the BBQ."

I kissed Radar on the lips then and there. "Bless your little heart, Radar," I said, rushing back into the Mess Tent to find the foursome still verbally lashing out. When I whistled to get their attention, I grinned with their stunned silence. "We've got some good news."

"Is the war over?" BJ inquired. Despite talking with idiots, he was still relatively calm.

"Is Donald here?" As always, Margaret was thinking of herself and the romp in bed she was sure to get. While I constantly wanted Hawkeye, I never went after a man as selfishly as she was.

"General MacArthur back in the war?" Frank was bored with the game and wanted the answer.

"All that we wanted is coming tomorrow," I announced before Hawkeye chimed in (his mouth almost moved to an inquiry too). "The BBQ is on!"

"Yay!" Hawkeye yelled, slapping and knee and getting up from his seat to dance with me. With the imaginary music in his head, he was too excited. "Radar came through!"

And that was the end of it. Three days later, we were having the time of our lives, caked in red flowers, good songs from the Armed Forces Radio (for once) and cooking good food. I managed to burn Hawkeye's magazines and he noticed at the last moment, Colonel Potter and I talked enough to gain some trust and there was no wounded to interject on this beautiful day. By nighttime and before our marshmallow roast, we were all cleaning up and putting the camp back to rights, even the officers who pushed the most misbehavior. After all, we too had been drinking more than just soda pop.

Hawkeye and I teamed up before someone else claimed either one of us. He still had yet to talk to me about his nudist pages burnt in the name of lucidity and only talked about how wonderful I was, being the good sport that I am about things. He even gabbed on about Maine and his last letters from his Dad and Dolly, which talked of the same incident that happened three weeks previously. Apparently, the lobsters were at it again and had burnt down another local pub. Dolly was selling some of her products and services to a client when the fire broke out. Luckily, nobody was hurt or killed. Everybody only suffered minor smoke inhalation.

"It's good that she escaped," I said, finding a drunk enlisted man sleeping next to a tent. I motioned to Hawkeye and we dragged him to the VIP tent nearby. After our chore was completed, I added, "She was lucky. Those lobsters seem to be a tricky sort."

"Always steaming up for trouble," Hawkeye replied with a wink. "Best way to get back at them is to turn them red."

I giggled. I learned from Hawkeye that the best lobsters were from Maine and that scorching them until they were red indicated that they were fully cooked and utterly delicious. It made me wonder again how life would be in the States when I was done with the Army, with a peaceful life and no military routines to think about. I always had the images stuck in my head in addition to all of the pictures and stories Love told me, but it was never the same as seeing Korea now as a barren wasteland full of holes in the ground. _That_ was my life now and anything else was literally a world away.

Finally, all of us who managed to survive the first wave of drunkenness sat before a small campfire to toast some gooey goodness. Frank was the first one in the bag and the one who set his on fire too. Comically, the major decided to get ahead of himself and stuck his marshmallow too far in, resulting in a blaze that nobody saw coming, lighting up our small area more than we anticipated (after all, Colonel Potter did not want the enemy seeing us). I also do not think it helped that the branch he chose was covered in oil and that Klinger, that genius crossdresser, threw a bucket of water in his general direction, drenching both the fire and Frank.

All of us laughed as the scene unfolded. I curled right into Hawkeye's shoulder in the aftermath, allowing him to cook my food gently before he popped it in my mouth. I savored the intimacy, ignoring the evil eye from Margaret (and she was pretending that some punch line from Father Mulcahy was funny, although I must say that the good Padre was drunk on sacramental wine and it was pretty lewd even for him). I was thinking, hell, this was the end of a wonderful day that we didn't think would happen. She should be appreciative that Radar pulled through and that he and Igor managed to get everything back in time and that our morale wasn't as low as it used to be.

After Frank was done chewing out poor Klinger, the corporal joined us for the final meal. It indeed appeared to be his Last Supper for Ferret Face had slated him for KP for the next three weeks, replacing Igor as the so-called "Enlisted Man to be Fried This Week". He muttered about next time leaving Frank to simmer in his own stupidity, but we all reassured him that he did the right thing no matter what was said and that we would get him out of it. Indeed, Colonel Potter even issued the pardon right then and there, freeing our schemer from any extra duties.

Seeing Klinger so happy with his liberation made me reach back into my pocket for Calvin's last letter, answering all of my last questions to him in a single paragraph. I reread it a few more times as Hawkeye continued to feed me, thinking that my pen pal was still a liar and I was no poetess, and stuffed it back inside for safekeeping before someone other than Hawkeye saw it. When Klinger said something to me, I missed it and requested him to repeat it.

"Captain, I wondered if you saved an edition," he said, hands behind his back hiding something. He most likely was wringing them.

"What are you talking about?" Even Hawkeye turned his head with mine to face Klinger. "An edition of _what_?"

"Well, I heard you used a lot of…ahem…_papers_…of Captain Pierce's that didn't need to be used. There was one of them in there I was hoping you'd save."

"His nudist magazines, you mean?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

I sighed. "Which _one_, Klinger?"

"It was pretty aptly named, Ma'am. I think you should take a lesson from that page."

Hawkeye laughed loudly as my blood pressure rose, showing by the redness on my skin. "Which one is it, Klinger?" I demanded with clenched teeth. "I could have thrown that in the dumpster."

"It's called, 'Women in Volleyball – Jealousy with Its Finest Peaches'. I thought it was an interesting title and merited some reading. I mean, it's educational, right?"

I could have _died_ and gone to hell with the devil screaming in my ear about not extracting my revenge. The merriment around us was deafening. I felt very insulted. I mean, I didn't care that an enlisted man threw something in my face that was meant to hurt me. I could take that from anybody. However, to butt into my private business with Hawkeye and to see if he could get the scrapings out of an argument that was ages old? That was low. Everybody knew that we loved each other dearly and were highly active in our sexual lives. To get any closer would be intrusive and rude.

I kept my cool though, smiling like the rest of them and feeling the hotness recede. I contributed to the endless stream of comments made about women and their inane knack of fighting with another of their gender and how all of us were as vicious as the last. Margaret wasn't too pleased even though she was up front about the stereotypical stance and laughing hysterically as the alcohol reached her head. By the time we finished though, it was after midnight and most of us had a shift in the morning. The party had ended.

Hawkeye led me back to the Swamp, arm-in-arm and quite content with himself, while BJ went in search of Frank. The last Swamp Rat had decided to stray away and BJ, always the mature mother of the group, went to make sure he came home safely. He also wanted to make sure that Hawkeye and I were cooled enough from the instigation. I had begun something and Love went to end it. That cycle had to cease somewhere before it rolled into another.

I took to my place of slumber when we separated, sitting at my cot and taking out my hairbrush to comb through my short unruly hair. Recently, when it was longer, the tangles had been getting worse. Annoyed, I had chopped it off with Kellye's help, but it was still difficult to get the brown strands to cooperate. Hawkeye watched me with amusement and wanted to help, insisting that he do it for me. Now, it had been months since I allowed him the pleasure to help me with my hair. I accepted the offer of assistance and was soon wincing as he pulled.

_Regret is such a powerful emotion. Kicking myself in the ass is more like it._

Gradually though, Hawkeye slowed down and managed to make my head into one of beauty. He even said so himself, running his fingers through it and tossing the brush away to reach for more. When he made his next move, I stopped him because I was still pissed off at him. I knew who put Klinger up to the task. This had Hawkeye's name written all over it.

"You're angry," he stated plainly when the sting of rejection took charge. He was also pretty disappointed that he was cut off right at the rip.

"Do you blame me?" I sighed. "I've wanted those damned things out since the beginning of our relationship. Can't you understand that they offend me?"

"Don't you get that they keep me sane if you're not around?"

"Driven wild with passion for another woman on paper is more like it."

"Jeanie, why would I replace you? They're just –"

"Nudes mailed to you. It is a part of your past that I want to eliminate."

I thought that the topic was closed. We had discussed it briefly when he discovered my deceit and he got over it quickly and in good spirits too. I did not think that Hawkeye would go as low as pushing Klinger (of all people!) to bring it up once more and to point out my flaws as a woman. I blew out some frustrated air, not wanting to argue, and finally stood to face him, staring hard into his blue eyes.

"Yes, it was cruel of me to do that behind your back," I admitted, "but it was worse of you to have someone come between us. We're both in the wrong."

Hawkeye nodded evenly. "Friends?"

"Lovers," I confirmed. When he tried grabbing me for a second time, I swatted his hand like Margaret did to Frank. "Not yet. I want a set date first. BJ is coming back with Frank soon."

"How can you tell?" Love was amused.

"I can hear the whimpering a mile away," I replied humorously. Then, my tone changed to a darker one as I continued. "The Korean family BJ probably tore him from is probably relieved that they're not being held hostage. After being held so close to Margaret for the past few weeks, I don't think Frank can hold it back much longer. He'll blow someday, Hawkeye. Just not today. We'll see when."


	26. Victims of All Types

Shortly afterward, things started settling down and another routine began as the summer opened its wide, hot doors and demanded a sacrifice from the war that was hitting its bloody two-year anniversary. By the ton, thousands of men, women and children entered our camp and exited out either in body bags, jeeps or by foot. Some of them were Dean's men (all of them reassuring me that he was alive and well) and others from other groups that told tired tales of destruction, hate and death. One of them snapped in more ways than one and it shook the faith in which some of us stood on.

One balmy early summer afternoon, a bunch of wounded men were sent to us by bus, which was considered a short load. Radar usually took meticulous inventory of everyone's belongings as we worked, tagging them to place coordinates on their current location and even took messages to their unit, friends or loved ones if he could. However, one of them didn't have anything except for rank and a superficial head injury – no dogtags, no bags, no weapons, _nothing_. The only thing he whispered to Radar was that his name was Jesus Christ.

I heard his conversation with Father Mulcahy as we dressed. As Margaret ordered me to keep an eye out on the girls in and out of the OR (her words, not mine), I leaned in on one of the walls and listened to the sounds around me. Being the assistant chief nurse (and a former spy) had a few perks, I would admit, and one of them was overhearing more than I needed to. This issue about the man who claimed to be the ultimate Lord and Savior was one of them.

Of course, it all began as Hawkeye and BJ cut right into the comedy. They told Father Mulcahy to not stand so close to Frank before Love went right into the heart of the issue. "We got a friend of yours in surgery."

"Huh?" The Padre was confused, turning to our company clerk as BJ and Hawkeye prepared to depart for surgery. "Well, what'd he mean by that, Radar?"

"Father, we got a guy that says he's Jesus Christ," Radar explained.

"Some people just don't belong in combat," Frank interjected as he followed the other two out.

And one it went from there of course. Margaret had me stand to one side, advising me to keep a sharp ear and eye out, and assisted with Colonel Potter. Again, I relaxed against a table, doing as I was instructed and turning a blind one here and there (Kellye was ever appreciative as she wasn't fast enough for Margaret's tastes). In the meantime, the banter continued on the captain who claimed to be our Lord and Savior.

Once more, the conversation went to the officer in question, which prompted Hawkeye to shock and awe his audience. "You know what irks me, Beej?"

"No idea." BJ was tolerating his friend's antics as best as he could without rolling his eyes.

"The lack of genuine spontaneity," Hawkeye explained. "Everyday, it's the same old grind. You wake up, brush your teeth, walk the dog, operate on the Lord…"

Frank and Margaret were wholly aghast, the former speaking up first. "Oh, that downright blasphemous!"

"That's from the man who polishes his socks for inspection," Love pointed out.

Margaret was on Frank's side this time (which even surprised me after her engagement), shaking her head as she changed gloves. "Pay him no mind, Major. He envies you your sanity."

"True, Frank," Hawkeye admitted. "Next to your lisp, that's what I envy most about you."

"Boy, you really are a sicko. Mental."

"Just 'cause I spent most of my waking hours fixing up small wounds so they could get bigger and better wounds, you think I'm mental? Ausgespielt? Bughouse? Teched? Milky in the filbert? Of course I am."

"Captain," Margaret warned me in a tone that told me to keep on my toes and that she was not pleased with my performance.

Of course, Hawkeye had to turn back to me, just to make me blush. "Wouldn't you be, Captain Nightingale? It goes against my training to say take two aspirin and go get yourself killed."

"I understand –" I began in my sternest voice when Hawkeye jumped in once more.

_God, if I go home, how the hell will I discipline my own daughter? If I can't handle Hawkeye, how will I have a child respect me?_

"What would Hippocrates say? What would Socrates say?" Again, his gaze was on me, truly never going to end this issue. "And what would you say if I asked you to go into the linen closet for some heavy breathing?"

Frank interjected before I said anything to make myself creditable in front of Margaret. "Are you going to knock it off?"

Hawkeye's glance went from me to Ferret Face. "That's what I'm trying to find out, Frank."

"Later," I said before someone else could reprimand me for something I didn't do…or did, as Margaret would see it.

"Disgusting!" Frank exclaimed, his typical word to end a conversation with us.

As Colonel Potter rolled his eyes and BJ shook his head, Margaret finished her work and came up to me. Crossing her arms, her features told me that I was in for it later. Equally, I tossed one of her evil eyes back, hoping that would intimidate her. I was a former spy and had some rough edges even though I wasn't physically threatening for the most part. I also wasn't going to let old Hot Lips Houlihan ever boss me around like that again, considering it a victory when she yelled at another nurse and left me be.

_Take that, Margaret!_

Hawkeye sighed. "Oh, Lord. Sorry, wasn't talking to you."

The Jesus Christ issue remained though. That OR session alone rocked a few boulders from the mountain loose and created an avalanche that was pretty memorable. Naturally, in a meeting in Colonel Potter's office later that day, BJ, Hawkeye and I thought there was something wrong with the man and that it was best to amuse him (even I was in favor of not forcing the issue since the man was harming none). There wasn't much else we could do since agitating him would make matter worse and he insisted that he was Christ the Lord.

On the other hand, the ghastly Regular Army duo united briefly, the ever-nosy Margaret and Frank, and thought otherwise, believing that the so-called Jesus Christ to be a fraud, bucking to break free from his duties and hit Stateside. Colonel Potter, always stuck between the two parties and listening to both side, sought a middle ground. Sidney was called in…and Colonel Flagg as well.

I had not seen Flagg in a few months and hoped to not run into him on this round. I won except for the initial and final meetings (which he ignored me for the most part), but the gossip I heard about him in-between this madness and his actions were deplorable (and I am being nice). I thought it best to keep out of sight and out of mind for the time being and wait for everyone (mostly Hawkeye and BJ) to tell me the juicy details until the ending. I didn't need to wait long after the initial OR session either, especially since Sidney had walked in and once more met the infamous CIA agent too. Radar was around that time and keep me in the loop as to what Sidney told Flagg (which, I must admit, was pretty damned hilarious).

They greeted each other cordially enough, Sidney reminded that Flagg was supposedly with Intelligence. Flagg reminded him of otherwise, which was the start of a headache for all. It went on from there with my former CO asking Sidney for the favor of being backed up on the Jesus Christ problem. The CIA agent had previously let us know that the captain was a bomber, Captain Arnold Chandler, and that he had flown fifty-seven missions. That alone sent warning signals even to Sidney, but it wasn't stopping The Wind from being his normal beaming personality.

In other words, Flagg was an ass. But I digress.

"From what I hear, the man needs help," Sidney pointed out gently. "My kind of help."

Flagg was livid. "You just let one of those creeps get way with a phony messiah complex and before you can say, 'John the Baptist', we'll be hip deep in sackcloth and ashes. We're not going to let that happen, are we?"

"We're not? Well, we'll see. Then, we'll know." Sidney was not impressed, but kept on his toes. Flagg had yet to reveal his true intentions yet.

"Part of order, Doctor Freedman, Sidney Theodore, we don't see," Flagg said. "As it happens, I know who you are"

Sidney was amused. "Is that right? Am I who I think I am?"

"I've been doing a little digging, Doctor Freedman with two E's," Flagg stated with such drastic flair. "Your association with certain groups on the attorney general's list of subversive organizations. Young Americans for a Lasting Peace. New York Alliance for Young Democrats. Doctors Progressive Conference."

"You're forgetting the Boy Scouts and the Psychiatrists' Bowling League."

Sidney moved to leave, but Flagg stopped him as Radar came in. "Hold it." He went over to the company clerk. "What do you want?"

"I've got work to do, Sir," Radar replied, digging through the filing cabinet.

"Well, let's see how fast you can do it!" Flagg snapped.

Radar closed the cabinet and headed to his desk. "Watch this."

By then, Flagg had considered Radar small potatoes and moved back to Sidney, not noticing that the company clerk had left anyway. "Boy Scouts. That's funny, Freedman. Almost as funny as the fact that you never signed your loyalty oath. You know you can get busted out of the service for that, don't you, Comrade Freedman?"

"Oh, is that what I am?" Sidney was amused by then.

"Why didn't you sign it?"

"Just between the two of us – and whatever mike I might be talking into – do you really believe if I were a Communist, I'd hesitate for a second to sign a loyalty oath? I'd like to go on talking to you, Flagg, but with your schizophrenia, I'd have to charge you double time."

When Sidney left for Post-Op, Klinger entered in his usual fashion. "The more I see you…the more I want you…la-dee-dee-dah-dah…"

"You!" Flagg yelled when his target was no longer in sight.

"What?" Klinger was annoyed, flipping a pile of papers onto a basket. He didn't care much for the CIA agent barking and would not begin now.

"The next time I see you, Tinker Bell, you'd better be in uniform and as GI as General MacArthur. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Mary."

Klinger then departed, continuing his song as Flagg snorted in derision. The Wind, being as he was, disappeared himself as the show went on, possibly using the cover of anything he could lay his hands on to keep out of sight just as I was. I mean, it didn't take long for Sidney to find us. I was on duty with BJ and Hawkeye and reading numbers on paperwork for Margaret as they all exchanged pleasantries. I nodded to Sidney, watching from the desk as he walked over to the man who claimed to be Christ and started questioning him.

Margaret came up to me by then, her fingers tapping the hard wood. "Anything you need to tell me, Captain?"

"Huh?" I didn't think I did anything wrong this time. The incident in the OR had yet to be discussed and Post-Op was not going to be the place where Margaret disciplined me. "What are you talking about, Major?"

"Do you have anything concerning Captain Chandler?"

"Oh, you mean the man who claims to be Jesus Christ?"

Margaret was appalled. "No man could take our Savior's place, Captain. He is _not_ Jesus Christ. Now, what do you have on him?"

"Nothing," I confessed. I chose to wait this one out and I was sticking with the decision of not digging, not even with Radar. "Why don't you ask Major Freedman when he's finished? I'm sure he'll have a report soon enough."

Margaret crossed her arms. I was telling her the truth. If she waited long enough, she would receive something from Sidney. I was tired of being her spy. There was no reason to have the role follow me to the nurse who hated me since my arrival two years ago. It was best to ignore her and listen to the disturbing conversation that lulled us into a false sense of security and led us to believe that even man could fall.

When the introductions were finished and the doctors came in our general direction to step back, Sidney dove into the heart of the matter. "Your presence poses some interesting questions. How long have you known your true identity?"

"What do you mean?" Chandler asked.

"Until about five days ago, you were Arnold Chandler," Sidney explained gently. He wasn't playing the game like we were. "Now, Arnold Chandler was born in Idaho and was raised on the family sheep ranch. He went to college in Colorado, enlisted in the Army, went to OTS, trained as a bombardier, went on over fifty mission and earned most of the medals and commendations that are available."

"I'm not Captain Chandler," the man protested lightly.

"You're not from Idaho? You're not in the Army?" Sidney questioned.

"Of course not," he stoutly replied.

"You're not a bombardier?"

"I'm Christ the Load."

"But you died."

"I arose."

"That was a long time ago. Where have you been since then?"

"I live on in all men."

"What are you doing here in an Army hospital?"

"I'm Christ. Where should I be?"

"Should you be in the nose of a B-29?"

"B-29?"

"That's where you've been a good part of the past two years, up in a B-29, dropping bombs."

"Bombs." Chandler was incredulous. "On people?"

"On the enemy," Sidney clarified.

"I have no enemies," Chandler interjected. "I love all men."

"Even the North Koreans?" Sidney was not trying to trap him into saying that he was a traitor, I saw, even though Margaret pursed her lips together to wait the answer.

"They're my children," Chandler answered. "Why would I hurt my children?" He shook his head weakly. "I'm sorry. I'm not this Captain Chandler you're looking for, but I hope you can find him. I hope you can help him."

Sidney tried another tactic. I wanted to hear it before I had to check on other patients, Margaret hot on my tail to watch my work. "Tell me, is it true that God answers all prayers?"

"Yes," Chandler said, convinced of this conviction. "Sometimes the answer is no."

And that was that. I had to wait patiently until the end, when Sidney and Flagg faced off and their opinions clashed. That did not take long. Later that day, when Sidney was done talking with Chandler and Flagg was still slinking around the camp, most of us had been called to Colonel Potter's office. Thankfully, Frank and Margaret were not around (although the former was sniffing out the latter's perfume in ad nauseam) and only Flagg remained standing in this battle for the captain.

Colonel Potter began this session. "Well, Doctor Freedman, what's the diagnosis?"

"He's Christ," Sidney declared.

"If you look closely, you may notice I'm not laughing," the colonel warned.

"Ok, he's not Christ, but he's not Chandler either," Sidney admitted.

"Psychoanalytical double-talk," Flagg interrupted.

"The man's a victim."

"He's bucking for a ticket Stateside! All we gotta do is stuff the guts back in him."

"Frank builds the cross and he's the nail salesman," Hawkeye jumped in.

"Shh," I warned, leaning forward for the conclusion.

"You're a victim too, Flagg," Sidney said to the CIA agent, "but you're such an unbelievable example of walking fertilizer, it's hard for me to care."

"I could have told you that," I mentioned to Sidney.

"You keep out of this!" Flagg yelled at me.

Sidney ignored this exchange and faced Colonel Potter once more. "Colonel, some men lose an arm or a hand or a leg. Chandler lost himself. He's not playing a game. He spent two years dropping bombs on people who never did anything to him until finally something inside this kid from Idaho said, 'Enough. You're Christ. You're not a killer. The next bomb you drop, you drop on yourself.'"

"What do you suggest, Doctor?" Colonel Potter asked.

"I think that with a lot of the right kind of help, we may be able to turn him back into Arnold Chandler. We'll never be able to turn him back into a fighting tool…and it's my professional advice that we don't try."

Flagg was not impressed, turning his beady eyes from me to Sidney. "I gave you a chance to play ball," he said sternly. "Now, I'm blowin' the whistle, Freedman."

"Blow away." Sidney did not care.

"Colonel Potter, this man, this _American_, never signed his officer's loyalty oath," Flagg announced. "I intent to see that he's thrown out of the service."

By then, all three of us were up and gathering around Sidney like it was a celebration. "Very smart, Sidney!" BJ laughed.

"Terrific!" Hawkeye added.

"I wish I thought of that."

"Where do we go not to sign?"

"You crafty devil."

I said nothing, choosing this as the next step towards freedom, a taste that I hardly had since joining the Army. I looked squarely at Flagg, defiantly standing with my friends. Even though the only way to get out of trouble was to be silly and to pretend that the seriousness of the situation was nothing, this was also my sweet revenge. Flagg did not know what was coming next, but when he next saw me, he would be regretting that he ever tried controlling me.

A plan formed in my mind right then and there, an idea that was planted and would soon grow into a wonderful flower that would blossom and never die. It would take some months to come true because water and sunshine could only do so much, but I was sure that it would allow Flagg the chance to kiss my ass goodbye. He would never be able to touch me again.

But Flagg was not done in either case, taking my act as one to remember and focusing on Sidney. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. You are very smart, Freedman."

Hawkeye had to get in somehow. "I told you."

Flagg rambled on senselessly. "You're only saying Chandler flipped out so I will have you busted and you can return to your safe, cozy civilian practice."

"He's onto you, Sid," BJ warned.

"Like someone else," I chimed in.

"You're not smart, Freedman," Flagg droned so, enough that Colonel Potter was even shaking his head. "You're dumb. Very dumb! But you've met your match in me. Now, Chandler may get out as a psycho. He's small potatoes. The Army can teach my mother how to drop bombs."

"Your mother?" BJ was incredulous.

"Whistler's Bombardier," Hawkeye simplified.

Flagg was preparing to leave. "But you, Major, are here to stay. Right here, shrink, where we can make sure you remain loyal to the country that's gonna hound your every step."

When Flagg left immediately afterward, Colonel Potter had to say something before his headache worsened, making sense of a situation that was never rational to begin with. "A little locoweed must've gotten mixed in with his feed. He always carry on like that?"

"I think he's been sniffing his invisible ink," Hawkeye offered.

"Or taking advice from Mata Hara," I countered.

"He's what Freud used to call 'spooky'," Sidney contributed.

"On the other hand, if Flagg wasn't mean, rotten and crazy, he wouldn't have any personality at all," Hawkeye concluded, allowing us to finish this discussion about Chandler in peace and without Flagg around.

The next day, the bus picked up a lot of wounded men, amongst them Chandler. While he snuck off with Radar for a few minutes before boarding (doing who knew what), he was still heading off with Sidney to the Funny Farm for a bit. Sidney promised him all the help that Chandler needed and then some and to also make sure that Flagg did not bother the man again. He could not understand the attention the CIA agent paid to Chandler, but he was sure that officers of all kinds, mostly those that had worked with Flagg, would always bear his mark.

_Not me. No, not now and never again. Flagg will never run my life again._

As he left with the bus, Sidney also promised poker in a few weeks, but that was another story for another day. We had more important things to worry about and it wasn't just about losing money either. Hawkeye and I had a few things going on between us and it wasn't too serious. However, with the Jesus Christ fiasco behind us, our relationship would come to head and it was over the silliest and most serious thing.

* * *

**Again, I do have to thank an actual episode for the following ideas and conversations. This one came from "Quo Vadis, Captain Chandler?". I'm sure I got everyone's lines where they were supposed to be, but I think I mixed up a few. Gotta love creative license too. ;)**


	27. Making Change

Even after Frank was kicked out of the commander's seat, Hawkeye and I remained as quiet as we could about our relationship and would not show our love openly. The whole camp knew about it though, steering clear when we needed privacy and joining in on the jokes when there was a chance. Even after our engagement was announced and no wedding bells ringing anytime soon, we continued to step on eggshells and keep the locals deprived of gossip until the night that we had a date in the Swamp…and nothing happened.

The incident started easily enough in the OR. Discussion was always light and ours led to a night out on his cot with some music and Oreo cookies. It was a treat after working so hard and dealing with Flagg about Chandler and we were so excited about it. In the meantime, we had to contend with other pressing matters, mostly about the 43rd Infantry unit and the camp garbage. Hoping that my ears deceived me, I heard that my brother was oust out of his command and Colonel Coner took control and that Frank was concerned about the locals taking out garbage.

"Are you serious?" I groaned, wishing that Frank was joking. I wanted to hear more about the 43rd and only grasped Colonel Coner's reputation as a Grim Reaper. Hawkeye nudged me and motioned his head to Major Malpractice.

Frank inhaled, addressing Colonel Potter before gossip about the 43rd continued. "Sir, I am keenly aware of the garbage in this camp. There are tin cans, eggshells, pussy old bandages and germy tongue depressors by the bushel."

"It's dumped the regulation twenty-five yards from the camp and poses no threat to hygiene," Colonel Potter pointed out with exasperation.

"But we're wasting out waste, Sir," Frank protested. "The locals are stealing it."

"They need it to survive," BJ said. He was catching onto the Korean diseases and not just the war.

"Well, they're not entitled to just walk off with it," Frank whined.

"Frank's right," Hawkeye declared loudly. "You give these people a taste of our garbage, next they'll want New Jersey."

I giggled behind my mask. "You mean the rotting gardens?"

"Now, what I'm suggesting is that we charge them for it," the major schemed. He had ignored our earlier comments. "Make 'em pay for every rind, every drop of swill."

BJ was incredulous as the rest of us were. Talk of the 43rd had ceased, although it was more interesting than Frank's discussion. "You wanna open some sort of bilious boutique, Frank?"

"No, but I do have a plan." Frank directed the last bit at the colonel.

"This isn't what I'd call table talks, Doctors," Colonel Potter warned. He then turned to Frank. "See me later, Burns."

"Who would have thought perfection could be so boring?" Hawkeye inquired as he finished his patient with me. This gave me the idea to continue our earlier suggestion of relaxation.

"Doctor?" I was sweet, hoping to get what I wanted.

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing after?"

"Please, put a note on the bulletin board like everyone else."

"I've give you a nickel." I smiled. "Or panty hose, whichever one you'd like."

"Sold." Love chuckled. "I'm so easy."

"I know." I pulled my gloves off. "Let's find a place to dance."

The Swamp was going to be empty and we were excited about seeing it so. BJ was heading to his next shift and Frank was going to bother Colonel Potter was about the garbage issue. With it being so balmy, the tent flaps were opened. Closing them had been easy and the music to cover up our misdeeds perfect. Hawkeye and I had undressed our white dresses already and were eying each other's green articles. He pulled out my record player and put on a random black disc, nibbling on my ear as we joined and swayed to the music.

_Love hurts, love scars.  
Love wounds and marks  
Any heart not tough or strong enough.  
To take a lot of pain, take a lot of pain,  
Love is like a cloud, it holds a lot of rain.  
Love hurts, ooh, love hurts…_

_I'm young, I know, but even so,  
I know a thing or two, I learned from you.  
I really learned a lot, really learned a lot.  
Love is like a flame, it burns you when it's hot.  
Love hurts, ooh, love hurts…_

No matter what we did though, Hawkeye could not be aroused. After an hour of trying everything I knew (and I wasn't naïve in that department, let me tell you), he tried himself and failed. By the time we put the player away and opened up the Swamp to the public, he was disappointed in himself and very embarrassed. He and I even sat on his cot together, entangled in an embrace, but he was willing himself to be anywhere but near me.

I wasn't upset, combing my fingers through his black and white hair. "Hawkeye." I laughed a little, trying to make light of a situation that would bruise any male's ego. "Hawkeye…"

"What are you laughing about?" Love demanded. "It's not funny."

"Don't worry about it," I reassured him. "Every man goes through this. Even my previous relationship had issues like this. It was always resolved."

Hawkeye ignored this, sighing. "I'm not worried."

I copied him, my air exhale louder than his. "It can happen to anyone."

"So let it. Let is happen to anyone. Just don't let it happen to _me_."

"Come on, sit back." I wanted him to unwind, but I saw I was being denied this opportunity.

"Maybe a drink?" Hawkeye suggested. "I'm almost ready to be drunk. I hear tomorrow's a very good year."

"I don't think liquor is the answer," I said. The words sounded bitter and strange, even to me. "Tonight isn't the evening to get drunk."

"You know, Jeanie, what just didn't happen here has never not ever happened before."

"Well, maybe you don't find me attractive anymore? I'm too fat of a princess for you?"

"Oh, that's true." Even with my joking, Hawkeye was a little offended. "Except for your face, your mind and your body, you're a complete dud."

"Oh, come here," I admonished, reaching for his pants zipper again.

"Careful," he cautioned. "I have to give them back after the war."

"Relax."

"What I think's happened is the damned Army started putting coffee in my saltpeter. It's thrown my whole system off."

"Mmm, tell me about it."

"How 'bout an Oreo first?"

"I'd be delighted."

Just when Hawkeye was about to grab the package, we heard a knock on the Swamp's door. "Shh! It's my wife."

"_Again_?" I was annoyed.

"Hawk? Hawk?" It was Radar.

"She always hawks like that," Hawkeye interjected. Then, he spoke the door. "Yes, Dear?"

"Captain BJ wants you in Post-Op," Radar announced.

Now, I was pissed. "Radar, can't it wait?"

"What happened to your voice?" the company clerk asked Hawkeye.

"I got a new pair of shorts from home. I'll be there in a minute." Hawkeye then stroked me gently, from the hair to the chin. It made me shiver for more. "Sorry to leave you in mid-grope like this, Jeanie, but you know that Hippocrates always calls."

"When will you be back?" I was anxious to continue off where we began.

"Before you can whistle _Carmen_," he promised.

I started the opera in a high-pitched shrill, but Hawkeye stuffed an Oreo in my mouth to silence me. Then, he was off with Radar to Post-Op, doing who-knew-what to those poor kids. It could have been men from the 43rd, since we had a huge influx of them recently. God, ever since my brother lost command of that unit, there has been an average of four men a session from that group and all of them pointing their fingers are their new CO, Colonel Coner.

At this point, I needed information and swallowing an Oreo and sticking around the Swamp was not going to cut it. Since date night had been cancelled and everyone was busy, there was one person I would turn to for military nonsense. Since she was happily longing for her Donald in every way and talking herself into marrying the first man she picked up after Frank, Margaret would be interested in giving me what I want for a price. I was willing to bargain taking on the nurses again so she could see her fiancé, but I'll wait for that price to come up before making the offer.

Determined, I made my way to Margaret's tent. She answered in a positive voice, so I hoped that she was receptive to my questioning. She didn't even bat an eyelash when I entered and even enticed me into sitting on her bunk with her. I obeyed her, smiling and listening to her chat about her latest letter from Donald, which was pure dribble.

_This is worse than me and Hawkeye._

I didn't say anything to Margaret, nodding every now and then and telling her how exciting it was to have someone worship the ground she walked on, gross as it was to me (Hawkeye never did and I do the same and it works out better than this bullshit from Donald to Margaret and vice versa). Fifteen minutes then passed before she took a breath. She glanced at me with curiosity then, silencing her excitement for a moment before asking what why I was here.

Finally, the old Margaret was sparkling and I only had to take advantage of the good mood to twist it my way. I sighed. "Well, Major, I was wondering if you had any information about the 43rd."

"What about it?" Margaret narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"As you know, my brother _was_ the CO of that unit," I explained carefully. "Recently, I heard news that Colonel Coner had taken over and was sending the enlisted personnel out to retrieve dead bodies."

"If we can afford it, a commanding officer is encouraged to tell the men to bring their comrades back," she reminded me.

"I understand, Margaret, but we have several men from the 43rd that was wounded because of these actions. What do you make of it?"

"Well, Captain, I can tell you to mind your own business."

"Because I am worried about my brother?"

"Why? He is second-in-command now."

"He _was_ the CO, Major. He took it with better grace than Frank. Nonetheless, a man who had their rule taken away would be bitter."

Margaret had to think for a minute before speaking. "Captain, there has been rumors that M*A*S*H units do not need the help from infantry units. They are moving towards making us fend for ourselves. They are also looking into the actions of certain…officers that lead their men to battle. While your brother, Major Morrison, is a very brave, commendable and patriotic individual, he also has been named as a drunk and an instigator. The Army does not need it."

"He has proven his worth," I argued. "He has experience in this war that Colonel Coner does not. Korea's conflict is a new type of warfare that the last did not see."

I was not sure if the latter reply was the truth, but Margaret reinforced the idea when her lips morphed into a strange pattern. "It is true that Colonel Coner has been stationed at a desk before his transfer to Korea, but the previous war brought him a kill ratio that could not be matched. I think he could take it and apply it to his new post."

I had enough of the Army bullshit and games, moving to leave. "If you know anything, would you let me know please? I would greatly appreciate it."

Margaret was genuinely surprised by the request and accepted it, seeing me to the door. When she gently closed it behind her, I rushed back to the Swamp. I was eager to see if Hawkeye had returned from Post-Op. He was not there. Indeed, none of the other surgeons were either. I was alone, to ponder my thoughts and to worry about my brother.

Not too many people had knowledge of the family curse that haunted my mother's family for countless generations. If Coner decided that it was worth it, then my brother (or myself) would be dead meat. I wasn't worth much to anyone, but my brother was. Nobody wanted to compete with an officer that used to have control over a unit. It was best to eliminate the person who the men loved the most and to take the reins. It would prevent a mutiny that way.

An hour later, stirred from a nap I didn't know I took on Hawkeye's cot (and missing out on the first late-night auction for the camp trash), the wounded came in. One of them was Colonel Coner himself, the man who took his men into battle to pick up dead bodies. He demanded that we see to his men first and mentioned that my brother was taking charge and how much he despised it. His complaining went on for minutes, loud enough to make a few enlisted men cringe and struggle to keep their mouths shut.

"Why?" I asked him, curious and not at all submissive. Margaret had me tend to him and I had to know his reasoning. "I am all ears, Colonel."

"Your name, Nurse?" Coner was not pleased with my attitude and let it be known.

"Captain Morrison, Colonel, Captain Jeanette Morrison," I declared. I kept my temper in check though, which was a far cry from what my father would have done. "I have every reason to inquire your reasoning as to why my brother, your second-in-command, is not helpful. I mean, he handed the 43rd himself for two years. His men adore him and he has kept this M*A*S*H base from moving many times. He is an exceptional officer and a fine companion for you."

Coner said nothing, waving me away as I finalized his preparation for the OR. He did not want to listen to the sister of the man he replaced anyway, holding Margaret hostage at one point after I left for the next man and telling her to put me on report. The head nurse, God bless her little heart (as Father Mulcahy would say) stated that there was nothing wrong with what I said and that if there were any more issues, she would handle it herself.

I was grateful for how much she covered my ass. Grinning, I continued my work, allowing the hours to tick away in quiet and then banter. It was a short run and we were finished in five hours, but it still did not take away the darkness of death that shadowed us constantly. Before our session had ended, word came back to BJ that one man from the 43rd that he worked on, Private Gerald Phelan, had died in his sleep.

Dawn came and we worked out the shifts for the day before either sleeping or working. I was part of the group for the former, slumbering until evening because I was so tired. When boredom claimed me (Frank the only one in the Swamp), I attempted eating dinner. That ended up in the trash too, killing my appetite. I was about to claim the time lost when I saw Hawkeye come out of Post-Op. I waved him over, but he ignored me, talking with Kellye as she came over to talk to him. She even disregarded my calls for a chat.

That hurt. My fiancé and my friend shoved me aside. It reminded me of my early days here, tasting doors slammed in my face and having my belongings and personal space invaded. While I knew Hawkeye to be totally mine, it was still wounding to have to share. At that point, I was just a waste of space and air. I retreated back to the Swamp for some more rest, only watching Frank exit from my sanctuary. He was mumbling something about having another public sale.

Depressed and down, I went back to sleep, waking up when Hawkeye shook my shoulder after the sun came up. While pleased to see him, I recalled the events from the day before and sighed. Without another word, I dressed in a clean uniform and followed him to the Mess Tent. Hawkeye was even kind enough to wrap his arm around my shoulder in the friendliest manner, kissing my neck and mentioning nothing about our activities later. I was sure he was better than our last date by the way he ambled with energy, but I was not sure. I was caught in my own misery to even care.

Breakfast went as usual (Colonel Potter even regaled us with the tale of the fastest amputation) except Colonel Coner joined us for our meal. He was not as severely wounded as his men and was informed by old Ferret Face himself that he was fit to leave. In the meantime, to ensure that he was ready to go and had enough strength, Coner had piled food on his tray, shoveling the mush in his mouth fast, saying that all of the fighting was making him hungry.

Appalling as it was, I had to applaud BJ for bringing up the most pressing matter of all. "Private Phelan died two nights ago, Colonel."

"Who? Phelan?" Coner was clueless. He hid his annoyance behind a mask of professionalism though, a scowl all that was left of it.

"Gerald Phelan," BJ clarified. "He was one of yours."

"Wounded last time he went out looking for coffin refills," Hawkeye added. He gripped my hand under the table for support.

"I remember that mission," Coner said. His face lit up as the food continued to disappear, recalling the details keenly. "We retrieved every Joe that brought it on Hill 911."

"And how any men did you lose?" BJ asked.

Coner shook his head in indifference. "Our losses were insignificant."

"How many kids is insignificant?" Hawkeye was outraged, still using my hand as an anchor for his own safety. I also had to ensure Coner's survival for the time being, holding onto Love tighter to keep him from punching the colonel.

"Two," Coner claimed.

"Phelan makes three," BJ pointed out.

"Look, we knocked out. That makes my kill ratio eight and a half to one. Maybe nine and a half."

"Do I hear ten? Sold! To the Grim Reaper in the third row."

It was in that intense moment that Frank showed up, greeting the higher-ranked officers, first Colonel Potter and then Coner. "Good morning, Colonel Potter. Colonel Coner. My, we have a lot of colonels here."

"We're up to our brass in 'em," Hawkeye joked.

Frank sat down, glaring at Hawkeye in disdain (which was nothing new). "I used to think that you were clever until you bought all that garbage at the auction."

"What?" I was confused and then outraged. "You _bought_ the trash?!"

Colonel Potter had the same reaction, echoing my words. "You…bought the garbage?"

Hawkeye shrugged his shoulders at our CO. "Well, you said get a hobby."

A voice behind us broke the gathering completely. It was Klinger, dressed to the nines and covered in Mess Tent gunk. "Captain Pierce, Colonel Coner's jeep's ready. _Everything_ is ready, Sir."

"Well, I guess it's time to leave," Coner said, leaving his tray half-full and for the enlisted personnel to clean up. "Gotta blow them Commies out of the water."

"Have a safe trip, Colonel," our CO wished.

The farewells continued for a few minutes. While Coner did not appreciate mine and even continued his customary grimace, he exited the Mess Tent and hopped into the vehicle that Klinger indicated and started it up. A second later, we heard a helicopter from the pad scurry towards Coner. It was holding a load, but it wasn't the typical one. The netting below it cupped its heavy cargo above Coner's head, dropping it on him just before he was about to leave.

It was the rubbish that Hawkeye won at Frank's sale!

"Beautiful! Beautiful!" BJ yelled. "A Tintoretto in barf!"

"I had dreams like this all through puberty," Frank mentioned.

"I didn't see any of it, but I loved it," Colonel Potter said as he walked away. "You're a pistol, Pierce."

"That's my garbage," Frank moaned.

"No, no, it's my garbage, Frank," Hawkeye protested with a laugh. "I got a receipt."

It was then that he noticed me. I had decided to watch the action with Klinger in the back, laughing as I eyed the sequence of events with hilarity. It was the height of Hawkeye's power as a prankster, a lone authority that I had not seen since Trapper was in the camp. Thinking this brazen of him, I returned the gaze he gave me, smiling as I swayed my hips and ambled away from the group giggling at Coner. I knew Hawkeye would follow me, an easy thing to do if the right attention was caught.

"I got time if you still got that nickel," Hawkeye proclaimed when he managed to keep pace with me.

"No panty hose?" I laughed. "All I've got's a quarter."

"No problem," Love replied. "I think I can make change now."

So, that was the end of the most serious and silly issue we've encountered so far in our relationship. We managed to find a quiet spot out by the minefields and have our way with each other. Even Coner was put in the back of my mind as the summer heat bore down on our bare skin, his reaction to the trick still the best thing that happened for some months. I did not know how he managed to get back to the 43rd. My only focus was Hawkeye and the steps he led me into.

And oh, how we _danced_…

* * *

**Following lyrics are from the Nazareth song "Love Hurts" and most of the quotes (some manipulated) came from the episode "Some 38th Parallels". I also noticed that I am jumping between seasons 4 and 5. I ask only for your indulgence. In the original trilogy, I had a tight timeline to work with and the point is to try and supplement it. If there are issues, please let me know.**

**This chapter is dedicated to my old friend, samanddianefan10 (Melinda). Wishing you all the best!**


	28. Turn to Stone

It was always a tragedy to deal with war personally as we were, especially with the civil unrest that was erupting around the ROK and the locals tearing apart their own country. It was worse to have it happen to you directly even as one watched the carnage unfold and then shock into an eerie silence. The smoldering ashes of a former life drifted in everyone's eyes before something vanished – you, a neighbor or even family and friends. It was too commonplace here in Korea and one I regretted most deeply.

This particular incident that seared my mind was another visit to the orphans, a day that began so innocently and turned into a nightmare. I mean, it was a routine call and we all expected it. Sister Theresa contacted us and said that they needed help since their truck broke down and they could not reach us. Apparently, a lot of the children had come down with the most common disease of all in childhood (chicken pox) and they needed some ointment for their rashes and a little comfort for their crying since they were constantly under enemy fire and had no way to escape safely. We had to bring them back here for a bit.

Simple and easy to solve, although it was tough. A team was cooked up, namely me, Hawkeye, Father Mulcahy and Klinger, and a bus was organized for the transportation. Well, I should say we were ordered to since the good Padre needed all of the assistance he could. Klinger was on parole for good behavior (no recent escapes) and Hawkeye and I had been…well, _fondling_ each other a little too much in the open lately, enough that Colonel Potter wanted us out of sight and out of mind. Being with the orphans was an excuse to get us out of camp and away from Frank's criticizing and complaining eyes.

Not to mention, it would give Colonel Potter a break and make us behave. I mean, he _had_ been watching us from his office window everyday and constantly saw us in action, even shaking his head when he saw us drunk and almost stripping each other in the compound. No word was made to him about using blinds and closing his eyes, but that was not my place to say anything.

"Hi, ho!" Hawkeye yelled as we continued loading the bus with Klinger, cowboy hat in place and uniform all askew (the Hawaiian shirt was enough to get him into trouble). "Hi, ho! Hi, ho! It's off to hell we go!"

"It's not a hell." I punched his shoulder, but was soon wincing as I picked up an extra heavy load with sore knuckles. "Besides, it's not for long. We'll come back to mail, dysentery, roaches, rats, panty hose…"

"Panty hose?" This caught Hawkeye's attention. He stopped working. "Did you leave me a message where I couldn't find it?"

"No, not really," I replied carefully. Klinger and Radar passed us by, pretending not to listen, but I knew better. "Let's just say that a certain CIA agent was kind enough to me and send me a care package and I am willing to share it."

"Flagg sent you a care package?"

"No, no. Greg Keller. He did it as a favor to me."

"What now?"

"I helped to get him out of Rosie's last week during the sniper fire, remember?'

"Oh, that was him? I thought it was a potato sack, rotted and ready to peel."

"Hawkeye!"

"Can't a guy dream?"

"Boys and girl, I hope you are getting ready to vamoose." Colonel Potter entered our circle, hands behind his back. "Rashes wait for no active couple and enemy fire is no place for a child."

"What active couple? Did you see one, Hawkeye?" I pretended to search high and low for what the colonel was referring to. It earned me a mutter from the colonel about young couples and not being pregnant again, something I ignored.

Suddenly, another hurricane came, only this time it was Margaret. Standing next to Colonel Potter, she crossed her arms and judged the work harshly. "Can we get a move on here?" she wondered out loud. "We might need to but out too!"

"Soon, Margaret, soon enough," Hawkeye said. "Just wait for us to clean those golden clusters of yours with our dust and we'll be off."

"Colonel!" Margaret was in no mood for the games.

"Pierce, simmer down," the CO ordered. "Now, finish up and get out of here. Oh, and do me a favor."

"What?" Hawkeye asked.

Colonel Potter was serious for a second, pulling out two helmets from behind his back. "Come back alive."

"If only my draft board told me so much." Hawkeye finished packing the bus with me, taking the head gear from Potter. Turning to face me, he hooked his arm with mine. "Tally ho then!"

We boarded the bus and were off, our local school teacher (Klinger) taking the driver's seat. The grime the vehicle kicked up upon start-up did leave a cloud behind for Margaret to wade in, but she recovered enough to wave through her coughing. Hawkeye and I settled in the back and returned her favor, screaming out that we'll miss her and to keep the cots warm. We tried our best to keep it toned down for the Padre though. I swear, he laughed at our antics and counted beads on his rosary to hide his amusement.

Smirks always told us a million stories. I waited for another story from the Padre from his younger days, but he kept that to himself this time. Listening to us was enough for his semi-virgin ears, I would believe.

It was going to be an hour before we reached our destination and a long journey with so much to watch out for. Klinger had been warned ahead of time that it would be in the Old Baldy area, the worst area of Korea thus far, and to keep away from the combat as much as he could. However, that was going to be tough. Near the northwestern part and at the border, the section had been fought over since the month before. It was also where our forces had the largest concentration, hence the dire need to remove the children from there before something drastic happened. It also would be where our next batches of wounded would come from.

There was some time to spare before we would get our hands dirty and our minds concentrated on the blood that pooled the floor. Hawkeye and I had the same idea and put it off to the side for the time being, deeming Father Mulcahy and Klinger too much company. Then, we decided to take turns taking swigs from the flask Hawkeye had brought, full of still gin. We didn't even get drunk, passing it over to the Padre and Klinger to include them in our fun, and kept our eyes more on the road. The fighting was becoming louder. We were drawing closer.

Hawkeye put a helmet on my head and then on his own. "Time for some trick o' treating," he said.

"Isn't it a little too early for candy?" I sighed, deciding that playing the game was best. "We're three months from October."

"Not if we're diving into something rotten." Hawkeye's face transformed, from elated to grave. He yelled at Klinger next. "When will we be there, Klinger?"

"Not sure." A pothole bounced Klinger (as well as the rest of us) up, his skirt hiking higher before decency had him roll it back down. "Ask Father Mulcahy."

"About a mile to go," he added. The Padre consulted a map he pulled from his pocket to ensure his answer was right. "Sister Theresa stated that they were by the river."

"And there's no safe zone for them?" I was shocked.

Father Mulcahy faced me and Hawkeye. "Not with all of the shelling. It was only recently that they moved to the Old Baldy area."

"Why?" The question sounded stupid as it left my mouth. I knew why.

The Padre shook his head. "Anyplace safe for children would be the best bet."

A contemplative silence remained between the four of us until Klinger bounced onto a road that didn't look anything like Father Mulcahy's map directions. When we peered over our seats, all we saw was smoke. With the wind hardly blowing to clear the way, it gave us an ominous sign. I was about to order the bus to be turned around when we heard something overhead. I could not tell what it was, but it was obvious what they were carrying.

"Get off!" I yelled, something that didn't need to be told twice. "Get off the bus!"

I don't think I had ever seen anyone run so fast before. All four of us exited the vehicle with as much gear as we could put on us, leaving behind our ticket back to camp, and scattered. I didn't know where I went, but wherever it was, it landed me in a ditch. I ate mud, allowing it to seep into my nostrils and ears like I was a drowning swimmer. Breathing in small intervals when I allowed myself the luxury, I heard the planes above me drop their loads.

Some yards away, I heard it…the screaming from a million voices, the fires that erupted in wisps on the ground, the way the shrapnel hit any object that was in its way…I heard it rush into my ears through the mud and pass over me like a spirit refusing entry into a doorway smeared with lamb's blood. I didn't dare lift my head. I didn't know time or space. All I did through the frozen lips of an atheist was pray that we would get out of this alive. There had been too many instances where we had faced death and lived through it. I hoped this would be one of them…

Before I realized where I was, the sun started to fall and the moon rose to meet it. When I was sure that I was safe, hearing nothing around me, I pulled my face out of the slime and opened my eyes to a world I did not realize was no longer dark. The stars in the skies twinkled, its light swirling smoke from a thousand blazes. Slowly, sticking to the foggy atmosphere, I got up, not daring to clean myself. There would be time for that later. The important thing was to find the others.

It didn't take too long either. I heard Hawkeye's shouting above the din and then Klinger and Father Mulcahy. I didn't want to yell back, feeling that it would allow someone to find out our position, especially if they weren't so friendly. Instead, I followed the noises that bounced around me, blindly flaring my arms out to catch something…what was it? A tangible item that would bring me luck and safety? A sense of home that would show me no war? A life after so much death?

I could not say. When I stumbled in the blackness and landed next to something whimpering, I knew that I had to do something. Damning safety, I yelled for help and picked up the bundle that called out to me. I could not tell right then and there if it was an accident or maybe someone directing me to this position. However, what I can admit was that it was an abandoned baby, maybe less than a year old, covered from head to toe in burns that rendered the poor body almost speechless and immobile.

Immediately, I did what I thought that any mother (and most certainly a nurse) would have done. I scooped the naked, burnt body into my arms and wrapped the slowing body into my jacket. Shaking, I sat down on the ground that was slowly sinking below me, waiting for Hawkeye to find me. From that point onward until he came to my side, dirty as I was, I held onto that sweet, innocent child, rocking her to sleep and singing a lullaby that I recalled my mother reciting a long time ago. It was when she cared about me and Dean, when the drunken man my father became did not scare her and her youngest children were her only hopes for the future, where there was no curse, no death…

_And no war._

Hawkeye's soft voice brought me back to reality. "Jeanie, please. Give me the baby."

"No." The word slipped out with force, stubbornly shoving aside all help.

"Jeanie, Love…Jeanie, please, give me the baby." Soon, it was a plea from him, his arms held out expectedly, to carry the bundle with us.

_But to where? How? No. No. No…_

"No." I remained steadfast in my answer.

Hawkeye said nothing more. He shook his head sadly, calling out to whoever was nearby that he found me and that I was all right. Then, he rushed off, shouting something about the bus. When Father Mulcahy, Klinger and some of the older children rushed by me, they chatted about getting the vehicle back to rights. I did not care about that. My concern was this little girl whose life was in my hands, comforted by the song she heard as I swayed her back and forth in my arms.

I think it was denial that got me through those moments. In my heart, the truth about the baby was there. My head did not want to accept it, choosing to wait until there were the supplies to save her and a place to safely put her to sleep. She was like my daughter, my beautiful Shannon, and I would have done anything to ensure her survival.

_No, no, no…_

I honestly did not keep track of events. The next thing I recalled was being back on the bus, trying to keep still on the bumpy roads. Klinger was back to driving. Father Mulcahy and Sister Theresa were shushing maybe a dozen and a half children. Hawkeye was tending to them, one after another, and muttering about how lucky most of them were. A lot of them did not survive the bombing and there was a chance that the rest (as well as us) would not either. It all depended on how well Klinger navigated us out of here and the aim of whoever was throwing the ammo and bombs.

We reached the camp in the dead of night, rolling the dented bus into the compound just as the radiator popped its cap and steam surrounded us in a fit of rage. I would have thought everyone else would take advantage of the time to sleep, but the news of the violence had reached them. Readying themselves to bug out had been a real thing. Worse was waiting for word from us, the survivors that hardly were living.

"What the hell happened?" Colonel Potter immediately boarded the transportation, surveying the internal damage.

"Bombing, Sir," Father Mulcahy said. "We reached the orphanage and –"

"There was none left," Sister Theresa added. "Colonel, we lost several children already. We had to take shelter nearby. We could not wait –"

"We came just in time. God was watching over us and…"

"The enemy was still firing. It wasn't major. We lost more children. We have twenty alive now."

"The bus overturned. It took several of us to right it..."

The words soon whirled around my head. I could not make sense of them. I only observed with vacant eyes the movements that I had accustomed myself to for the past two years. All the while, the little girl in my arms, the one that never got away and left me, made noises that I recognized were ones of hunger. For a second, I went to pull up my shirt, but then I realized that my breasts were empty and had been for almost a year.

Margaret came up to me. There was no anger crossing her face, only sympathy and perhaps a little empathy for the innocents of this war. Guiding me up, she and I walked to the Mess Tent silently, where most of the children stayed. She set me up at one of the tables alone, bringing me powdered milk and a pitcher of water and a towel. Mixing it together for me, she soaked the cloth and handed it to me wordlessly.

I took the hint, trying to tune into my mother instinct for assistance. For maybe an hour or more, I fed the baby. She took the milk, but she did not suckle as well as Shannon had. She continued to cry out in indignation and then in injustice. It slackened as the minutes ticked and the orphans settled into their respective resting quarters. Soon, I was alone except for a small circle that watched me first feed the girl and then burp her weakly. Finally, when I knew she could not take any more nourishment, I rocked her as best as I could.

Words from my poem about something and nothing popped in my head. I tried pushing it aside, but it was too appropriate that I had to allow the sounds that accompanied them – the same that Calvin Spaulding sang in that Tokyo hotel room – to ring with them.

_The game of life is hard to play.  
I'm gonna lost it anyway.  
The losing card I'll someday lay.  
So, this is all I have to say…_

Before I knew it, she was taken away from me. Just like Shannon, the little girl that I loved with all of my heart, this one was gently picked up by Sister Theresa and taken outside, still curled in my jacket, tucked away from all harm. I tried to see where she was going, but Hawkeye blocked my view, sitting to one side. When I tried twisting any way I could to escape, BJ came out of nowhere and did the same, seated on the other side. Father Mulcahy even joined us on our opposite end, his face grave and even joyful.

It was an emotion I could not understand, a duel fight over who was more dominant. When the tears prickled his eyes, it surprised me. When they came down, I could not help but join him. I cried too. I tried wiping them away, but my shaking hands would not allow it.

Father Mulcahy managed to control his sobbing, looking at me as I continued my own weeping. "Jeanie, you gave that child more than she would have been given. You gave me a chance for a life before Good took her into His arms."

"What life?" I managed to say. "What life was there?"

"One we would hope is everlasting and in comfort," he replied.

"You did everything you could," BJ added. "A burn victim, especially a newborn, usually does not live long here."

_Here. And what is here?_

I shook my head. I could not accept these words of comfort. They meant the world to someone who was easily conned into them, but to one who had done so much and expected nothing more than sadness, then it was the wind. One could feel it, but it was never there. It would knock things down, destruct anything in its sights and bend nature to its will. At the same time, it could never surround its environment in the love that human life should give to each other.

No child should have to see war and death. _None._

_Suicide is painless._

I could not take the trio anymore. I got up and headed out of the Mess Tent, passing by a quiet camp that prepared to move out at any moment. Without knowing what I was doing, I headed into Radar's space, finding him typing reports. He immediately stopped when he noticed me, immediately putting on his telephone pieces and making a call, waking up Sparky and asking him to patch a call to the States, namely to John McIntyre in Boston, Massachusetts.

Radar's senses were not jammed and possibly had an idea of what I wished. I _did_ want to make a phone call and it was to Trapper. I just didn't want to have Louise answer though, hoping that Radar would stay on the line long enough to greet them and make sure I could talk to Trapper alone and not arouse the wife's suspicions.

My wish came true. It took an hour, but Radar managed to get through to Boston and asked for Captain McIntyre when the line went through. I heard a woman's screeching on the other end about the Army and its inane conspiracies for a minute before silence took control. After Radar excitedly talked with the person on the other line for a minute, he handed everything to me.

"Three minutes, Captain," he said, backing away.

I took the hint, trying to smile in the face of this catastrophe as I put everything on. "Hi, Trapper."

"Jeanie?" Trapper was incredulous that heard me. He sounded so distant and soft. "How are you?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly, feeling my body tremble. "I called…well, I needed…"

"Shannon?"

"Please. Is she there?"

"Jeanie, she can't talk yet."

"I know. _Please_, Trapper. I need to hear her. Just this once."

I could not tell if he was going to oblige me by the way my ears listened to the eerie hush. I honestly thought the line was disconnected early and was going to call back for help from Radar, but was soon hearing muffled voices. When Trapper said something in the background about saying hi to Mommy, my heart soared. It was my baby, my Shannon.

She babbled in a language excitedly I could not understand. Nearly a year old and already a talker. I could not speak. I was consoled by the sweet noises of my daughter, the baby I had to leave in capable hands as I continued to work in this damned country that did not care, this forsaken war that took all lives. I could not see its ending. I would not hold Shannon until I was discharged, whenever that was.

Trapper was going to say something, but we had been cut off. This time, the call was over.

Radar had backed away, leaving me alone to contemplate. I stayed in the same chair until dawn. When the sun rose on another day, dipping its tentacles into the mountains and bushy terrains of Korea, I stood up on legs that were not accustomed to walking. Sprinkling the office area with dust from yesterday's adventure, I pushed myself out into the sunshine. I had to face the new morning. I had to continue on in this impossible place that hardly would cease to exist and would persist in our hearts for the remainder of our lives.

The showers called out to me. I had a shift in an hour and hardly enough time to adjust to this new me. Continuing to the Swamp to gather some clean clothes and shower items, I held onto the noises that Shannon said to me the night before, the beautiful developing words she hardly verbalized, and held them in my heart. It was only thing I could hold onto, the only thing that would make me stay put and not run after Sister Theresa and demand where the dead baby girl was buried.

It was best to keep moving, even if there was no end in sight. It was best to turn to stone and to never mourn the losses and to stay as cold as I could. I could not afford it otherwise.


	29. Buried Beneath the Willow

As the early July days came upon us, the Battle for Old Baldy intensified. Because it was so near to the camp, we had to buggy out for a few days, only allowed back when we were told that the area was cleared. By then, Dean and his men had been in and out of the area and the orphans had been resettled south of us. Luckily, there was a set of trucks that were taking civilians out of the area and Sister Theresa managed to bribe them for a ride. So, with all of our love and well wishes (to all of them, including the men from the 43rd), they left.

It was a lonely time and we either had to deal with sheer boredom that dragged on or sessions in the OR that lasted for an eternity. There was no middle ground. It allowed us some pranks, new activities and lots of drinking. At the same time, it gave us new perspectives on everything, from the people who came through to the letters we received from home. Even the ones we wrote back home had a tinge of longing and hysteria in them, begging to come back to them when the war was nothing more than a hideous reminder of death.

To me, the summer reminded me of the last and the one before. The first had been the beginning of this Korean conflict and the one after when I was pregnant with Shannon. There was nothing new except our lives evolved over this primitive place we call home. The peace talks ceased once more and the hostilities continued on as if there was no regard for human life. The bullets grew larger and the wounds deeper, especially our own. Even the reminder of my daughter's upcoming first birthday in September was a way to tell me that I was a worthless mother that could not handle herself and the daughter she left behind.

By then, writing to others had been a way to keep my mind off of things, something that picked up over the past year even though I hated it. While few people had been the brunt of my frustrations and the lies persisted to my mother, it still took me to a place where I could take refuge. Even writing, I could imagine that there was no war and Hawkeye and I lived a peaceful existence that was somewhere far away from Korea. I could pretend that the hospital was a job we had and the people in the camp were our co-workers. Conditions in the camp? It could be chalked up to being forced to make do with the lack of supplies. Most certainly, I had heard of civilian hospitals working without them, although it had been rare and the areas poor.

The illusion got me through quite a few days and died. It ended when things quieted down and life went back to normal, still bouncing between this tedium and business. I put up a mask to make ends meet, coupling with Hawkeye anywhere we had privacy, dancing at Rosie's with whoever was there and matching drinks with the Marines had come by from time to time. Even that last bit reminded me of another punch in the stomach that even burned me.

Mail had been slow as usual, especially when it was between us and the Front and vice versa. Dean's letters to me and everyone else hardly got there and the same happened to us. It made us imagine what it was like for us and home too. I mean, I did not relish my mother's missives full of criticisms, accusations and silly nonsense. However, I still missed Trapper, Lorraine and even Calvin Spaulding. I was sure they were not receiving my letters because a few talked of censures and not seeing anything posted recently.

However, it all came in huge piles the day I spent with the Marines at Rosie's. Hell, it was the best few hours that I had in weeks before news all of all sorts came in. Being the only woman here other than Rosie and her friends made me the best target the Marines had since they came from shooting practice at the North Koreans. I had downed at least three glasses of gin by the time they came in and wanted to go back to camp. On my way out the door, one of them laid a hand on my ass, something I never took lightly.

It was a fair game and an easy agreement once the idiot and his two friends realized who I was and I had Mr. Free Hands by the collar in the nearest corner. Whoever drank the most would pick up the bill for all parties. They could not ravish me out of respect for my engagement and they did not want to handle Hawkeye at his worst and I could not pretend I didn't know any moves that would put them in Post-Op. Simple and polite…and also quite the afternoon when everyone around placed money down on who would win. Not too many people thought I could do it, but I was encouraged by the enlisted men from the 4077th who knew my habits.

_Oh, they have not seen a nurse drink. This'll be interesting…_

By the time Hawkeye came in an hour later, I was ahead of the three Marines by several shots and a huge tab under the table. Since the deal had been loser pays all, I took my sweet time in getting every drop, remaining functional, albeit buzzed. All of them had taken half of Rosie's supplies and were slowing down. One of them had fallen asleep at the table, the second following closely behind and the last was so drunk that his eyes were completely red and his speech unintelligible.

Hawkeye pushed the crowds away and managed to get a chair next to me as number three plummeted and I was the declared winner. He even kissed me as he dropped a bundle of letters before me. "Mail call, Love."

"About time." I rubbed my tired eyes. "Say, do you know when I'll get the bill?"

Love laughed. "When Rosie calculates it. I'm sure you drank her under the table."

"I think I beat my own record. I can't believe I'm still awake."

"You could always tumble into my bed for some sleep."

"Don't Major Malpractice and Captain Privacy mind?"

"There has been worse."

Then, it was my turn to giggle. Once everyone cleared away and the bets placed had been exchanged, I had to get my mind off of the alcohol and onto home (and possibly picking up the tab since Rosie did not like sleeping drunks in her establishment and would like to be paid up-front). I was so glad to see this pile that I almost jumped for joy. In the meantime, as Rosie and her friends cleared the table and the Marines dragged their three out with promises to later compensate, Hawkeye and I opened the mail. Since mine was mostly misery anyway (from Mom and Aunt Mary), I decided to save the worst for last and open up words from friends who cared.

The first was from Calvin. Immediately, a smaller slip of paper sailed out when I ripped open his sachet. Before it hit the wet floor, I grabbed it, smoothing its rough edges on the table. It was a poem titled "A Whiskey Lullaby". Intrigued, I read it slowly. At first, I couldn't believe it. I browsed it a few more times before I understood what he meant by the words.

_She put him out, like the burnin'  
End of a midnight cigarette.  
She broke his heart.  
He spent his whole life  
Tryin' to forget._

_We watched him drink his pain  
Away, a little at a time.  
But he never could get drunk  
Enough to get her off  
His mind until the night…_

_He put that bottle to his head  
And pulled the trigger  
And finally drank away her memory.  
Life is short, but this time  
It was bigger than the strength  
He had to get up off his knees._

_We found him with his face  
Down in the pillow,  
With a note that said  
I'll love her 'til I die.  
And when we buried beneath  
The willow, the angels  
Sang a whiskey lullaby._

_The rumors flew, but nobody  
Knew how much she blamed herself.  
For years and years,  
She tried to hide the whiskey  
On her breath._

_She finally drank her pain  
Away, a little at a time.  
But she couldn't get drunk  
Enough to get him off  
Her mind until the night…_

_She put that bottle to her head  
And pulled the trigger  
And finally drank away his memory.  
Life is short, but this time  
It was bigger than the strength  
She had to get up off her knees._

_We found her with her face  
Down in the pillow,  
Clinging to his  
Picture for dear life.  
We laid her next to him  
Beneath the willow, while  
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby._

"What's that?" Hawkeye was curious when he saw my concentration.

"A poem from Calvin," I replied, handing it to him for scrutiny. "It's pretty dark, even for him."

Love read it. "A whiskey lullaby? What does he mean?"

"Songs he hears when drinking?"

"A heavenly presence that hovers when he's drunk?"

"Yeah, but what does the woman putting him out mean? Does it mean he was burnt by his wife?"

"_Wife_?" Hawkeye was instantly interested, giving me back the poem. Gossip appealed to him at this boring happy hour. "I didn't know he had a wife."

I felt embarrassed by betraying this detail about Calvin, but let it go as he never sworn me to keep it secret. "He does. They married before he was shipped here."

"Any letter with this?"

"Yes. Let me see what's up."

Hawkeye remained nosy (almost as bad as Margaret and Frank when they were a couple) and continued to badger me about Calvin's message until I picked everything up and went back to the camp. He followed me too, lovingly groping me and begging for a dip in the stream near the minefield. I usually would have been up to the challenge, but I was more focused on Calvin's sentiments and being alone to figure them out. I managed to get into the officers' latrine, a place where I knew I would have some solitude, and locked myself in an almost-full stall. Hawkeye never followed me there. He was cajoling at me to come out nonetheless.

"Leave me in peace, will you?" I yelled back.

"You're doing this on purpose!" Hawkeye was ever on target. "I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow this latrine down!"

"So what? Puff and huff all you want."

"You're taking all the fun out of this. _So_, I'm telling Mother!"

"Oh, go tell BJ you're bored then. I'm sure he has a geography game or a volleyball tournament in the Swamp."

The thought of getting the last word in or even beating his best friend interested Hawkeye. He rushed off immediately. This left me some minutes before someone knocked on the door. Relieved, I took Calvin's missive and unfolded it. It was a short one. Regardless, it packed quite a few punches in so little of a page.

_June 29, 1952  
Somewhere, Nowhere_

_Jeanie,_

_So many words cross my mind, thinking of what to say to you and how. You've been the only true friend that has risen to the challenge of keeping me on my feet and trying to find my place in this civilian world that does not care. Tonight, when I think about when the last concert will be or when I shall ever find a home, I think back to the good times…_

_And then think about drinking them away. They do not matter to me anymore._

_In either case, she'll never and she'll never cared._

_She never did anyway._

_She betrayed me, slept with another man while I was in Korea. I never did that to her. I liked flirting with the women. I never touched another though, Jeanie. I had respect for Linda, the beautiful fairy that flew into my life and then burnt the wings that I made bigger and brighter. She was my lullaby, the dream I always had when I closed my eyes. She was my living mirage, the disappearing dawn that waved goodbye when I was ready to face reality._

_Now, she is gone. And so am I._

_Don't mind me please, Jeanie. I am not in my right state of mind. I am somewhere and yet nowhere. I am here and not there. I am dead and alive. I am nothing and somebody._

_Forgive, forgive, forgive…_

_Calvin_

By the time I read the scribbled page, I had it crumpled in my hands and had tears streaming down my face. It was not fair. In this game of war, it's always hard to play the losing side. Calvin was a victim, a man who lost his best in his largest bet. I could not blame him for his bitterness and it made my own simmer.

He had to stay alive though. He could not be another statistic, a number chalked up to a forgotten war in a small country in Asia.

Ignoring the rest of my mail, I escaped, a darting nurse entering where I had exited. Immediately, I went to the Swamp, setting my things down in my corner and enjoying the peace that never came when all three men were around. As I sat on my cot hoping for a rest, Margaret came in. She rummaged through Frank's end, scattering his belongings in a fit of annoyance, and even grumbled a few words of utter disgust at the weasel.

"What do you need, Margaret?" I mumbled from my end.

"What business is it of yours?" she volleyed in return. "You can just return to you filth and your degenerate ways."

From there, Margaret went on and on about how horrible I was and wondered out loud why the hell I managed to be _her_ second-in-command. I decided to mark this up as bitch week and call it a day since it had been the same old grind for over two years now. However, when her screams grew louder and the noises crashing over my head, I had to do something. I sat up quickly, rushing over and pulling her away. Whatever she was screeching about, it didn't matter. It was broken up and quite incomprehensible anyway.

"It was valuable!" she sobbed, picking up the fragmented pieces of something even though I had been restraining her from behind. "It had been priceless!"

I couldn't tell what it was since Margaret was practically grinding it in her hands. It could have been one of the multiple items that her parents gave to each other on their wedding night (God knows we heard enough of it from Frank) or something she bought in Tokyo or Seoul for Frank. Whatever it was, she was so upset about it that she had to tell the world about it. Worse, she had to reiterate that Frank Burns was scum.

"Jesus, Margaret, don't you think the camp doesn't know of your torrid romance with Frank?" I yelled, feeling my back hit Hawkeye's cot as she kicked backwards to release me. "He's an asshole. What did you expect?"

The rage continued. I went to get up to contain it again, but Margaret was faster and ran off, most likely for Frank. From there, I debated whether or not it was worth it to chase her. It would save us some whining from Ferret Face and maybe conserve his life. However, it would also allow more patients to live since he would be out of commission. At the very least, it would have given the camp a little entertainment to see him squirm.

I decided against it. Colonel Potter should be able to contain Margaret if someone reported it to him (and it wasn't going to be me this time). I had better things to think about anyway. I went back to my side of the tent and sat down on my cot, pulling the stack of letters closer. I thought about rereading about Calvin's woes, posing my hand above the envelope, and resolved to leave that alone too. There was a lot of raw emotion in there, most of it I could not deal with. I could always write back about it and make it as cheerful and cautious as I could, but that would be for a time I had the power to put the words to paper.

In the distance near the entranceway to the camp, I heard some familiar shouting. It was Dean and his men, back from action from the Front. When I trained my eyes to see the group, I saw him in his glory, taking in the acclaim that the camp managed for him and his unit. While Colonel Coner was not in sight, it was still a wonderful thing to see my brother alive and well. It made me believe that the family curse was nothing more than a pure rumor fueled by coincidence and tragedy. It was only a self-fulfilling prophesy that the twin males unconsciously decided to make sure came true in order to scare the next generation.

Immediately, I got ready. Heading to the still, I pulled out two dirty glasses. I blew out the dust and filled them, finding a seat near Hawkeye's cot and waiting for my brother. News would come soon. I was sure of it.


End file.
